


At the End of a Long Escape

by Ordinary_Vanity



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragonborn DLC, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Pining, Songs? In my titles? It's more likely than you think., Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ordinary_Vanity/pseuds/Ordinary_Vanity
Summary: Valtiel let her gaze drift over the forest floor again, glancing briefly at each scattered body.This bunch had gone out of their way to hunt her down, this time. You don’t find your quarry through sheer blind luck, after all. Not when they’re two days out from the nearest settlement. It was obvious now that whoever had ordered this attack would not be happy untilsomeonebrought her head back to Solstheim.-❧-The Last meets one of the most insufferable people alive.But, he also meets her.
Relationships: Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak
Comments: 51
Kudos: 126





	1. Niraat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally caved and went to try my hand at writing sappy fanfic, featuring my favourite character in the game. This is my first work, hopefully it'll at least be entertaining as I learn the writing process.
> 
> Title translation - Prey

Valtiel jerked her crossbow back up to eye level. Pulled the trigger. Missed the throat, got the shoulder; close to the clavicle. She cursed mentally. So close.

The cultist stumbled back from the sudden force, but it wasn’t enough to stop his charge. She fell a step back from her last assailant, ducking under the next wild swing of his dagger. She used their moment of imbalance to get distance, only having enough time to sling her crossbow back over her shoulder.

The man leapt forward, lunging at her. She didn’t have enough time or space to unsheathe her daggers. She cursed again.

His blade came downwards towards her head as if he was trying to _bludgeon_ her with it. She seized his forearm, dipping underneath it and turning in place to put her back to his. She gripped his arm tighter and _heaved_ , using the momentum of his swing to drag him forward in an arc - taking him off balance.

Now out of the blade’s reach, she used her leverage to veer the man forward and away from her. His tangled legs sent him tumbling forward, nearly falling.

She closed in behind him. Wouldn’t be long, now. She put both palms to his back and _pushed_ , finally sending the man down into the dirt. She seized her knife.

She gave him no recovery time, climbing atop him. Straddling his back, she gripped his head and dug her fingers in, gripping him tightly by his hair through his hood’s fabric. She plunged the long blade of her dagger into the soft meat of his neck.

Panting, she pulled the knife out quick, away from the gash’s entrance; trying to keep the spurting blood from staining her gloves. She stood methodically and stepped away.

Valtiel pulled her face mask down, the fabric bunching around her neck. She sighed quietly in relief at the cool air hitting her face, finally able to take air freely.

The wind played lightly with her hair, pushing strands across her face. Strips of sunlight filtered down from the pines into the patchy clearing. Pulling her hair back and pushing the corpse over, Valtiel scowled down darkly at the man’s makeshift wooden mask. Examining the body, she searched the cultist’s satchel, and quickly found what she was looking for. Just like the others before them, this group also carried their orders on a parchment note.

Valtiel let her gaze drift over the forest floor again, glancing briefly at each scattered body.

This bunch had gone out of their way to hunt her down, this time. You don’t find your quarry through sheer blind luck, after all. Not when they’re two days out from the nearest settlement. It was obvious now that whoever had ordered this attack would not be happy until _someone_ brought her head back to Solstheim.

She let out an exasperated noise, glaring down at the note, and resolved to finally call Odahviing. She needed some answers. She took in a deep breath, and Shouted - her Thu’um echoing back to her through the valley.

Trudging back through the brush, Valtiel picked a tree and sat under it, refastening her half-mask and nestling between the roots. There was nothing left to do but wait, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I really name my OC after a Silent Hill monster? Yes. Yes I did. But, here we go! End of chapter one. Hopefully the action was understandable, esp since this is my first time writing it. Obviously, any feedback is welcome. Hope you enjoyed!


	2. Grah-Zeymahzin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of Dovahzul in this chapter! For those on desktop, hover your mouse over the words to see my translation. For those on mobile or tablets, most of my translations are at the bottom.
> 
> Title translation - Battle-buddy :3

Odahviing stirred from his rest and quirked his head, having heard his name echo on the winds. The Dovahkiin was calling.

Stretching out his leathery wings, he took to the air, dirt kicked up by the beat of his wings. The Fall Forest passed by quickly underneath him. Skyrim’s landscape rapidly changed from rocky mountains to dense pine forests. Once he was far enough into the woodlands, Odahviing slowed his pace - dipping low to glide just above the trees, circling. He had heard her call from this direction and was certain he was close, but searching for the Dovahkiin through the pines would take more time than he had patience for.

“Laas Yah Nir!” His Thu’um hissed out from between his teeth, the Dovahkiin’s aura instantly visible through the pine needles and foliage.

Odahviing dropped himself through the trees, barely finding the space to land, crushing the plants under him with a quaking thud.

“Dovahkiin,” he cried out, “I am here!”

Walking on the points of his wings, Odahviing quickly snaked between undergrowth - ‘Yol’ waiting to be unleashed - and the Dovahkiin strolled to meet him halfway, stopping less than a foot in front of him. Odahviing flicked his gaze between where the Dovahkiin casually stood and the smattering of bodies dead in the grass.

… Ahrk til lost nid het wah grah.

Evidently, she had dealt with her attackers already. This was not surprising; Alduin’s dovahkriid would not need his help for something so simple. She was not so lazy as to make him travel here to kill a few men, either. 

After months of silence, calling him away from his perch for - seemingly - no real reason was unusual. Odahviing knew the Dovahkiin respected their pact. She called him only when it was of real import. For what reason had she brought him here now? There wasn't even any _danger_. The snapped ends of twigs dug in uncomfortably underneath Odahviing’s spiny feet and he sighed inwardly. The smell of coagulating blood filled his nostrils. He stared pointedly at the woman in front of him.

She put her palm on his nose, patting it.

“Hello again, Odahviing,” she greeted, calmly.

“Zu’u koraav nid hokoronne het wah kriin. Druv lost hi bel dovah?” He asked, trying to keep his tone neutral. 

At that, the mal vahdiin's minne glinted mischievously. Apparently he hadn’t hidden his displeasure well enough; she picked up on it quickly, “My deepest apologies for interrupting your busy schedule,” she started, “I'm sure it must have been _terribly_ difficult to drag yourself away from whatever rock you were napping on.” Her tone deliberately sarcastic and deadpan. While it had taken time to adjust to her typical irreverence, especially after centuries of utter respect from the masses, Odahviing knew there was no real impertinence behind her words.

That didn’t mean he would excuse her snide comments, though.

He grinned, scales pulling back to expose rows of his long, sharp teeth.

“Faas ni, Dovahkiin. I am glad to aid you. Los fen prodah. I ought to have realized these mal muz would be too much for you to vanquish.” He didn’t even try to hide the condescension from his tone this time, bringing the point of his wing to squish her to the side of his face. “Praan drem mindok Zu’u los het, I will not abandon you to sunvaarre so _fearsome_.”

“Oh, there’s no need to trouble yourself,” she soothed, mocking a polite tone, leaning against his head and reaching down to idly pat his nose again, “If I come across something truly horrifying, I’ll make sure to call on someone who’s actually _helpful_.” She met his eyes daringly.

Dovah and Dovahkiin glowered at each other with leveled gazes.

The Dovahkiin held his stare until she finally cracked, breaking their playful tension and chuckling. Odahviing huffed out a quiet laugh. Taking a moment to compose herself, she finally explained;

“In all actual seriousness, these men weren’t the reason I called you.” she said, stepping out of his hold, “Not directly, anyway.”

Odahviing straightened, shifting to face her directly. “Tell me what troubles you, Dovahkiin, and I will aid you if I can.”

The Dovahkiin paced slowly in front of him, gesturing vaguely with her hands as she slowly spoke, “A few months back, a group of masked men approached and questioned me, asking if I was Dragonborn. Not long after, they attacked me.” This, so far, wasn't especially surprising. The Dovahkiin was a noted presence in Keizaal, known by many. Having enemies was to be expected. Odahviing nodded once at her explanation.

“Once they were dead, I found they carried written orders with them, instructing them to kill me specifically. However, what actually piqued my interest was the name of the person who issued the order. It sounded like Dovahzul, or like something that you might have given to one of your dragon priests.”

Odahviing snorted dismissively.

“The days of the Dragon Cult have long since passed. Pah fin Sonaakke dir lingrah vod, ahrk nunon aan vogaan aam ko diil nu. No one from the cult could possibly remain alive to order your destruction.” While Odahviing did not live to see the end of the Dragon War, he had found out later that most of Alduin's mortal votaries were nothing more than mindless, shambling husks. Obviously, the odds of a cult Priest organizing an attack on the Dovahkiin had to have been impossible.

The Dovahkiin shifted restlessly then, turning to stare back out at the corpses.

Odahviing followed her line of sight, stretching his neck out to survey the bodies around them; at their masks.

Then again…

Odahviing sighed. “What was this name?”

She looked up at him once more.

“Do you know anything about someone named Miraak?”

His reaction was immediate. Odahviing whipped around to face her as if she had suddenly struck him. His golden snake-like eyes blazed intensely, body tensing as he raked his claws through the ground. The sudden change in his demeanor was _jarring_. Valtiel had thought nothing could truly upset Odahviing, he was always composed. Seeing one of her closest allies become so instantly tense at the barest mention of this man had made uneasiness creep into her chest.

“Miraak, fin vax! Worse than even the Brunikke! A terror on Nirn. It did not matter how many of the dov Alduin sent to destroy him, he would slay or subjugate any unfortunate fool in his way. When his treachery was uncovered, we razed his temple to ashes! He _ought_ to be _dead!_ ” Odahviing was practically writhing in his rage, and Valtiel had to backpedal to avoid his thrashing.

He seemed to remember himself then, caught in a rare rush of emotion, halting his outburst. He looked back on to the Dovahkiin, who was staring up at him, wide-eyed and stunned. He took in a deep inhale, trying to slow his panting, and forced himself to relax. He had more important questions to ask her, now.

“Dovahkiin,” he began, “Why have you not told Paarthurnax of this? You’ve known of Miraak’s return for months, and did not think to seek out either of us until now?” He brought his head back down to her level, straining to keep his tone carefully even. She shook her head in exasperation, running her fingers through her dark hair.

“That’s not the case at all - I had tried to ask Paarthurnax not long after the first attack, but Arngier denied me passage to the peak. He had said that my curiosity would only get me killed, and told me not to look into this any further. After that he absolutely refused to answer any of my questions. Not about Miraak, not about Solstheim, anything,” she hissed out - there was some hurt there, under the anger; she ignored it - “The only option I’ve been left with is to sit, wait, and try to avoid getting assassinated by cultists.”

She shifted in place and crossed her arms, obviously agitated.

“I can’t abide this any longer,” she shook her head, “I need actual answers. I need to --”

Odahviing suddenly dropped his head low and _pushed_ , startling a shocked sound from the Dovahkiin. He had knocked her off balance, and she fell forward over Odahviing’s snout, arms out to try and catch herself.

“Meyz,” he commanded, wriggling to urge her to climb atop him faster, “I have no patience for Paarthurnax’s meyus prustiikke. I will take you directly to the peak, and you will tell Paarthurnax what you have told me.”

Valtiel spurred herself into action. Finding her grace, she raised herself up and over Odahviing’s horns, sliding into place along his neck. He wasted no time - once he was confident the Dovahkiin would not keel and lose her grip, he pushed himself aloft and took to the skies, to the Monahven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I got Odahviing in character for his first appearance. He and Paarthurnaax both have distinctive personalities and speech patterns, so I'm aiming to emphasize their differences in the next few chapters. As always, I'd love to hear feedback c:
> 
> Dovahzul for this chapter:
> 
> Ahrk til lost nid het wah grah - And there was nothing here to battle  
> Dovahkriid - Dragonslayer  
> Zu’u koraav nid hokoronne het wah kriin. Druv lost hi bel dovah? - I see no enemies here to slay. Why have you called me?  
> Mal vahdiin's minne - Little woman's eyes  
> Faas ni, Dovahkiin - Fear not, Dragonborn  
> Los fen prodah - Should have predicted/known  
> Mal muz - Little men  
> Praan drem mindok Zu’u los het - Rest peacefully knowing I am here  
> Sunvarre - Monsters  
> Pah fin Sonaakke dir lingrah vod, ahrk nunon aan vogaan aam ko diil nu - All the priests died long ago, and only a few serve in undeath now  
> Miraak, fin vax! - Miraak, the traitor!  
> Brunikke - Savages/Akaviri  
> Meyz - Come  
> Meyus prustiikke - Foolish students


	3. Monahven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translation - Throat of the World
> 
> Dovahzul translations at the bottom.

Odahviing beat towards the Throat of the World at a breakneck speed, and it was all Valtiel could do to hang on as the air grew thin and cold around them.

She gripped his scales tighter, curling chilled fingers around a spike and leaning closer to his body, trying to hide her face away from the harsh gales.

Carefully, she reached a gloved hand down to throw open her messenger bag, blindly feeling for the goggles inside. Passing over glass bottles and bandage rolls, her fingertips brushed over cold metal. She wrapped her hand around the eye cups and yanked them out of her bag, swiftly re-fastening the top and dragging the goggles over her eyes.

Ahead of her, Odahviing quirked his head to catch her in his sights. Her wriggling must have caught his attention.

“Kopiraak yal. We are nearly there,” he called, over the stifling winds. She lifted her head to peer over his neck, the Throat of the World coming into blurry view, snowflakes already obscuring her lenses. Odahviing sliced through the air like a knife, the strong headwinds doing nothing to slow him.

Valtiel winced as the snow bit at her exposed skin, thankful to be wearing her long coat, at least. The peak was not far, now.

Odahviing banked, sweeping around the tip of the Monahven and stopping to hover above the crumbling Word Wall. Descending close to the earth, he took a minute to adjust - wings beating hard, catching the wind. He finally landed with a heavy thud, feet and wing tips sinking into the snow. He dropped his head low, mindful to let the Dovahkiin get off slowly.

Just above them, Paarthurnax called his greetings.

“Odahviing!  Drem yol lok,” he rumbled, voice carrying even over the wind. “And faal Dovahkiin, as well,” his old eyes finally taking notice of the small figure sliding off of Odahviing’s neck.

She waded through the snow, trudging towards the Word Wall. After a moment of consideration, Paarthurnax cleared the skies with a Shout, halting the blizzard.

He crawled down from the Wall, the snow that had settled over his scales falling from his wings and back, joining the rest of the powder already pooled there. He craned his long neck forwards, coming to usher the Dovahkiin out from the open and the worst of the cold, a wing extended towards her.

Before she could greet the old dovah, Odahviing gently nudged her forward with the tip of his snout, pushing her towards Paarthurnax.

“Bo,” he told her, “Formalities can wait. Ask Paarthurnax your questions.”

“Easy, Odahviing,” she ground out, digging her heels in to stop him from pushing her further, “I can’t demand answers without explaining what’s happened first.”

Paarthurnax looked between them, inner eyelids blinking. He settled comfortably under the Wall. “Drem, zeymah. All in good time.  Ek straag tinvaak.” He brought his attentions back to Valtiel. “What would you ask of me, Dovahkiin?"

Valtiel took a breath. Right. The matter at hand. Paarthurnax was staring at her expectantly. She joined him where he sat, leaning against his body and curling up close so he could hear her voice over the weather.

“I need to ask you about someone. I’ve been attacked by groups of cultists claiming to work for a man named Miraak. I need to know why these people want me dead, and I had hoped you’d be able to shed some light on this.” The red lenses of her goggles glinted brightly in the sunlight as she spoke.

“Mindok. I know the name. First, however, a question for you. What do you know of your predecessors, Dovahkiin?” Valtiel thought on his question. He wasn’t giving a direct reply; but Paarthurnax was still answering her, in his way. She thought back, trying to remember her history.

When it came to her forerunners, all of the really useful information she had learned came from books. Obviously it would be impossible for anyone to directly know about the Dragonborn or what being one meant; especially since the only other person before her had been dead for over two hundred years now.

She had asked others what they knew as well - Arngier and Balgruuf had been helpful, explaining what her books did not - as most Nordic cultures preferred oral tradition over the written word. The Nords seemed to cherish the Dragonborn in their legends as prominent heroes in history. She was thankful for the information, though she found it hard to take it at face value. Bretons as a whole didn’t keep the same oral traditions, and she mistrusted the legitimacy of something that could have been twisted over the Eras.

“I know that the Septims were Dragonborn before me. As well as Reman Cyrodill and his heirs, plus a few others. I’ve read that Saint Alessia was the first.”

“Your books were written falsely, then.” Paarthurnax began gravely, “Miraak, the Allegience-Guide, was Diist Dovahkiin \- the First - before the Slave Queen. Long ago, he had sworn fealty to Alduin as a Priest. When he had discovered his true nature, he turned his back on his overlords.” 

So, the name did belong to a Dragon Priest, then. Good to see her instincts hadn’t led her astray in that regard.

“Curiously, though, he refused ally with the ancient Tongues during our revolt; even though he had a similar goal for his rebellion. Instead, Miraak and his Acolyte Priests claimed Solstheim as their own - isolating themselves from  Keizaal. Nearly any dovah caught on the island was either slaughtered or overpowered by his Thu'um. Eventually, Alduin learned of his defection. He commanded Solstheim’s ruler to execute Miraak. His temple was destroyed not long after he was slain, and both he and his executioner are presumably interred on the island.”

Odahviing huffed. “Not that the Traitor deserved a burial,” He grumbled. 

Paarthurnax shifted, and she swayed with the movement. She reconsidered the new information.

The inclusion of Solstheim corroborated with what she knew and what her allies had told her thus far. Barring one _little detail_.

“If he died eons ago, who sent the assassins?” Valtiel asked. “I must be missing something here, unless some desiccated old corpse really _does_ have some vendetta against me.”

“Vomindok,” Paarthurnax added quietly, his glassy eyes distant, “I cannot know for certain why you have been targeted. Perhaps someone discovered his records, and is simply impersonating him? Ahrk lo... and deceiving others into his service falsely?”

“Daar nis kos,” Odahviing interjected, “All knowledge of faal vax was destroyed in the wake of his betrayal. There should have been no trace of him left behind.” The snow was disturbed as Odahviing’s tail swept across it.

Valtiel leaned back onto Paarthurnax’s side, reclining her head back and staring into the sky, thinking as her allies continued to discuss ideas. They were all in the dark right now, but at least she had a marginally better idea of what she could be facing. Either this Miraak was some kind of imposter, or resurrected as some sort of draugr like the other Priests she'd encountered. She toyed with the latter idea, reconsidering her earlier joke. After all, she wasn’t quite sure just how much knowledge the draugr retained of their former lives. Some of them were completely mindless, but others like Morokei had proven they could still be _very_ cognizant, and dangerous for that matter.

“I suppose I’ll just have to leave for Solstheim and find out for myself, then,” She stated.

“Los daar onik? Is it wise to leave Skyrim so soon, even though you are known to him now?” Paarthurnax asked, apprehension in his gravelly voice.

“Doing nothing hasn’t gotten me anywhere. And I won’t wait around for him to kill me, either. I can’t continue ignoring this.” Something had to break eventually. Especially if he was as vicious as her allies made him sound. What’s more, she had a feeling that things would only worsen the longer she turned a blind eye.

“Doom-driven, as always. Go, then. But be cautious, Dovahkiin. This may not be what it appears. Trust your instincts, kos tahriik.” Valtiel nodded, reaching up to place a gentle hand to the side of his face, and gave her goodbyes to her friend.

Not long after, Odahviing and Valtiel left the Throat, gliding back down the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super pissed that Todd Coward never let me ask grandpa Paar about Miraak, so I'm dedicating a whole chapter to doing just that because I'm Bitter™.
> 
> Dovahzul for this chapter:
> 
> Kopiraak yal - Hold tightly  
> Drem yol lok - Peace fire sky/greetings  
> Faal Dovahkiin - The Dragonborn  
> Bo - Go  
> Drem, zeymah - Peace, brother  
> Ek straag tinvaak - Her turn (to) speak  
> Mindok - Know  
> Diist Dovahkiin - First Dragonborn  
> Vomindok - I don’t know  
> Ahrk lo - And deceiving  
> Daar nis kos - That cannot be  
> Faal vax - The traitor  
> Los daar onik - Is that wise  
> Kos tahriik - Be safe
> 
> The translations weren't too crazy this time, since Paarthurnax usually keeps the Dovahzul to a minimum (compared to Odahviing) when talking to the player and typically explains things right away (unlike Odah, the jerk). However, if I got something wrong and you spot it, let me know so I can correct the mistake! ^-^)/


	4. Morah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translation - Contemplation
> 
> Dovahzul translations at the bottom.

The blustering wind tousled Valtiel’s hair as Odahviing skated down the mountain’s slope. She’d have to prepare thoroughly before she left for Solstheim. There was no telling how long this could take.

She considered what to tack on to her supply list. Her medical supplies would need to be replenished; she’d already used what she brought during her stint into Falkreath’s woods. There were other provisions to think about, too... She’d need to bring rations for when she was out in the wilds. Fortunately, the only bag she would need to take along was the satchel she wore, as Turrianus had been commissioned to enchant it several months ago. At least bag space wouldn’t be a problem.

Val sighed internally. Aside from reaching Solstheim and investigating Miraak, she didn’t have any real plan of action. She didn’t know if he had any kind of outpost there, if he dictated parts of the island; anything. Gathering intel was out of the question right now. The possibility that he commanded the even a little bit of the isle made travelling there concerning. Valtiel wouldn’t turn away from this, however; even without a solid plan... but it wouldn’t hurt to prepare before she faced a man of mass-destruction. Assuming she was confronting somebody alive, and not a corpse.

Aside from that, barely anyone went to Solstheim nowadays, since there was hardly anything out there that made the trip worthwhile - meaning that next to no news came off that rock. Miraak already knew of her presence and she had no contacts there. She’d be entirely on her own. Exploring the island by herself could be dicey. Valtiel made a mental note to bring more crossbow bolts, and a whetstone for her blades too.

“What exactly will you do once you reach Solstheim?” Odahviing asked suddenly, as if reading her thoughts. His voice hitched as he made contact with the ground, the impact making him grunt from exertion. Valtiel scarcely gave him time to settle before leaping from his neck, eager to stretch her legs out again. Between the flight from Falkreath and chill from the Throat, her muscles had gone stiff. She smoothed her coat out before she wrung out a reply.

“Well...” Saying it out loud felt like pulling teeth, “I don’t know what I’ll do. Yet. I’ll.. figure it out as I go, I suppose.” The admission was a little embarrassing, confessing she had no immediate aims made her indecision feel even more palpable. Like she was a fool blindly walking into a trap with her eyes still open. The side of Odahviing’s mouth lifted in a mocking smirk, teeth flashing in the dappled sunlight.

“Pruzah grahmindol.”

“Shut up.” She pouted, squinting her eyes. No need to salt the wound.

She expected him to laugh at her more, but Odahviing merely snorted. Schooling his features into something serious, he regarded Valtiel with sobriety. The breeze disturbed her hair and made the birch leaves rustle. Her mouth formed a frown, bracing for a lecture. Somewhere in the distance, a bluejay was jabbering.

“Saaran uth. Mindoraan, daar aal kos tahrodiis. Call upon me when you wish to depart. I will deliver you to Solstheim so you may investigate.” There was no humor in his voice this time. Valtiel’s eyes shone, her grin sneaking back over her face.

“Just me?” She ribbed. “What’s wrong, Odah? Afraid to meet one _mal mun?”_ This wasn’t _really_ the time for jokes, but if she had the chance to get back at him for his teasing, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Odahviing couldn’t have _all_ the fun.

“Dreh ni. Do not test my drem,” He reprimanded, and Valtiel only grinned wider, “If Miraak has returned, he is a threat that should not be treated lightly.”

“Alright,” she acquiesced, hands up in a placating gesture, “But don’t ask to hide behind me if he finds you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought the previous chapters skimped on the detail too much so I tried to make up for it in this chapter by giving Valtiel a longer inner monologue as practice. It's still a little short, but I wanted to post something until I finished writing up the next. Hope you enjoyed! As always, feedback is appreciated.
> 
> Dovahzul for this chapter:
> 
> Pruzah grahmindol - Good strategy  
> Saaran uth - Await command  
> Mindoraan, daar aal kos tahrodiis - As you know, this may be dangerous  
> Mal mun - Little man  
> Dreh ni - Do not (goad me)  
> Dream - Peace/patience


	5. Volein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title translation - Oblivion (lit. un-world)
> 
> AKA: Meet-cute

Solstheim wasn’t quite what Valtiel thought it would be. It seemed as though the entire island was one expansive wasteland. The constant spew of ash from the Red Mountain blanketed the earth and sky, making the night especially dark. Light from neither the stars nor the moons could illuminate the land below; the ash was too dense to penetrate. Luckily, the shadows cut deeply enough to cover them from sight.

Valtiel inched closer to Odahviing’s head, gripping his horns firmly and leaning as far as she dared to reach his ears.

“Can you bring us down? I can scarcely make out what’s below us.” They’d need to get lower before she could try to identify any more of those cultists. She wanted to see if there were others working for Miraak.

“I cannot go much closer,” he said in a quieted voice, “We risk being noticed if we go down any further.” 

“I need to know who we’re looking at, Odah. I can’t tell if we’re staring at a cultist compound or some bandit stronghold in the works.” If they were careful, Odahviing ought to be able to glide by silently. They could keep their cover if he was mindful not to beat his wings until they were out of hearing range.

Odahviing hissed a tense sigh through his teeth. Valtiel decidedly ignored him in favour of trying to get a better look. She tightened her grip around his horns and her eyes flicked over the landscape, itching to catch a glimpse of the people below. She’d need to make the most of the opportunity Odah was giving her. Squinting, she peered down.

They were building... something, obviously. Rickety scaffolding surrounded the area; though she couldn’t see what was being made from this angle. The resonating echo of hammers on stone could be heard from below, even at their lofty height. Perhaps there was some kind of amphitheatre down there that was amplifying the noise? The architecture as a whole was foreign to her, though the large arches and broad expanse of stone reminded her of Dimhollow, where she first found Serana. None of it was Nordic as she knew it. The ruins she had explored didn’t match what she was seeing in the slightest.

Perhaps it was due to the dusky gloom of night, but the platform looked unnaturally dark, as if the whole thing were made of ebony. All the while, that pulsing green light gushed from the center of the platform, shining straight up to the cloud layer.

The black skies made it even more obvious against the starless night.

Odahviing slid to the ground with grace, settling at the base of the stairs. Valtiel pushed at his smooth scales, vaulting off his neck. She landed solidly and her feet sunk into soft, ashy soil. The soot they disturbed threatened to make her cough, and she quickly tightened her mask to keep the worst of it out. At her side, Odahviing seemed uneasy.

“You do not need to do this.” He breathed tentatively, “We could return to Skyrim just as easily, before Miraak discovers your presence. I’m certain there are many who would be gladdened to destroy the Traitor’s temple at your command.” Countless dragons had been lost to Miraak’s weapons and Thu’um. The others wouldn’t need much persuasion.

The ash traced whispering patterns in the air as it settled around them.

Valtiel straightened, shaking her head. She wouldn’t put others at risk for her sake. “I can’t abandon this now. Leaving would only invite Miraak to slaughter me while I kept my back turned.” She peeked back up the mountain side, the foreboding arches loomed overhead. Everything so far had led her to this temple, and the lure of an explanation was beckoning to her just a short climb away.

She readjusted the strap on her satchel and checked her swords over. She left her daggers behind this time. Her allies had warned her that Miraak promised danger, and that meant coming armed to the teeth. “I’m going in. Should you choose to stay, I’ll find you near that northern sea-side village later.”

Odahviing poked her in the chest with his dewclaw.

“Do not do anything foolish,” he ordered, and Valtiel snorted. She was essentially walking blind into the heart of Miraak’s territory. They were _well past_ ‘foolish’.

A moment later, and Odahviing had snaked away to take flight at a safer distance. Valtiel watched until she lost sight of him in the dark.

She began her ascent up the wide staircase, methodically eying her surroundings now that she was afforded a better look. The ash squished softly underfoot.

There were _dozens_ of skeletons here, all belonging to the Dov and half-buried in the ash. The place was practically a graveyard. She crept past a particularly large skull, the empty eye sockets gaping back at her. She couldn’t place why seeing their remains unnerved her. It’s not as though she buried the Dov she had slain... Though, perhaps their neglected state was why she was unsettled in the first place. From what she gathered, the Dov were carefully interred in burial mounds up until the Dragon War. The sheer number of skeletons abandoned here would have been unusual for the time. It definitely didn’t bode well for... whatever she was about to see.

She was approaching the top of the stairs. With cat-like grace, Valtiel silently scaled the scaffolding - careful to hide within the shadows. The wooden platform barely creaked under her light steps. It wasn’t long before strange chanting reached her ears. Alongside that, a feminine voice carried through the night air, crying out with a desperate conviction.

“Yrsa, can you hear me? Yrsa, I'm here to help you!” The voice was loud, and pained. “You must leave this place! It is not safe here! We must go back to the village!” 

She needed a better angle. To get that, she’d need to know what was ahead of her. Valtiel murmured a quiet Word, the life forces of various people lit up in her vision one by one. Scanning the platform above, she took note of their numbers - there were many who were still building on the temple, and there was one particular shade that was scurrying about, flitting from place to place. That must be the woman she heard earlier. She blinked and dispelled the illusion from her sight.

For whatever reason, that woman wasn’t being attacked - despite the attention she was calling to herself. Valtiel was confused to see that seemingly no one paid heed to her yelling. Instead, they ignored the her completely. The steady beating of hammers and chisels went on as the groups above worked intently.

Evidently, working was more important.

Valtiel uncurled from her crouch and slowly made her way to the epicenter of the platform. Miraak’s temple looked utterly _bizarre_. There was some kind of domed structure in the middle, with a kind of fragile stone netting webbed between the upper arches. It encased the Doomstone she observed earlier. Its light still shone brightly up into the night sky.

She paused beside one of the workhands. This one was a Dunmer. His brow was slicked with sweat despite the cold, and he seemed so exhausted from the hard labour that he barely had the breath to mutter the strange mantra he desperately whispered. It seemed as though the man had been exposed to the frigid winds for quite some time. His ashy hands were badly frostbitten, the tissue on his fingertips was black and waxy. Still, he continued chiselling - even though his hands ought to have been too numb to hold a hammer.

She was debating whether or not she should try to snap him out of his stupor when her observations were interrupted. That woman from earlier snatched her attention, marching over swiftly to speak with her.

“You there!” she called from the steps, “Why have you come to this place? Why are you here?” The woman’s voice was laced with distrust. She gave off the impression that she wouldn’t appreciate anything other than a direct, honest answer.

“I’m here to investigate someone named Miraak.” Valtiel stated simply. Her eyes drifted over the people around the platform, “This temple used to belong to him, didn’t it? Why would these people rebuild it?” They didn’t seem completely cognizant, apparently their sole concern was reconstructing the shrine. From what she could see, they never _stopped_. The sounds of their labour never ceased.

The woman shook her head gravely, blonde hair shaking with the movement. 

“I do not know why my people work on these strange creations. But the evil in this place must be rooted out. If I cannot save my people, I will avenge them.” This woman appeared to be quite the warrior. The look in her eyes said she was a far cry from the typical, ‘tavern-boy-turned-mercenary’ types Valtiel had encountered thus far. With a pair of war axes at her side, a hefty bow at her back, and a heavy set of well-worn armour, she looked ready for anything.

“You mean, to save them from this... trance they’re in?” Their actions were inexplicable, and Valtiel hadn’t a clue as to what could drive them to exhaust themselves like this.

“I am unsure. Something has taken over the people of Solstheim. In the previous months, a strange sensation has settled over our people. It feels like... something oppressive. Like a looming storm. The people are forgetting themselves; they work on these horrible creations until they succumb to fatigue. These strange creations corrupt the very land itself. Have you felt the same feelings? Do you feel the same urge to seek out the Stones?”

Valtiel shook her head minutely. “No. I’m sorry. I’m not native to this island, so I can’t say I feel anything abnormal. You'd be in a better position to detect strange influences than I.”

The woman hummed in thought, giving Valtiel an evaluating look. She tilted her head, eyes calculating, before speaking again after a brief silence. “My father Storn, our shaman, says Miraak has returned; I thought it was impossible, as he had been banished Eras ago. Curiously, you seem to have knowledge of him. Tell me, for what reason have you come to this temple? Why are you seeking Miraak, outsider?”

“This ‘Miraak’ has sent more than a few people to kill me, and it appears they’ve been coming from this island. I needed confirmation.” Val paused, extending a hand to the woman, “And, before I forget, let me introduce myself. My name is Valtiel. Pleased to meet you.” The woman took her hand in a steel grip, nodding decisively. 

“I am Frea of the Skaal.” She retracted her hand to heft a war axe over her shoulder. “Let us go. You and I both have reason to investigate this temple.” The Tree Stone and her friends were beyond Frea’s help for now.

They began the descent into the shrine.

-❧-

Pushing through the ornate temple doors, they were greeted by the sight of a typical Nordic barrow. The tunnel walls were damp and coarse, moss growing in between the stony cracks. The echoes of falling dirt and shifting earth carried through the dimly lit passages.

Much of the interior was dilapidated, chunks of stone had fallen from the ceiling long ago. There were few notable chambers - there was some sort of torture-showroom that Frea found acutely alarming, with many of the cages within containing ancient skeletal remains; an elevated throne perched above them to grant a view of the torment. Valtiel expected the ruins to be _riddled_ with traps, but this was excessive. One corridor came to mind that was nothing but swinging blades front to back. Valtiel had to press tightly to the walls so she wouldn’t be sliced to ribbons.

The inner Sanctum was even worse, draugr would burst from their coffins in droves, and there was no shortage of battering rams and spiked walls ready to crush ribcages and spear skulls. All the while, Valtiel and Frea descended deeper and deeper into the shadowy tunnels. It seemed Miraak enjoyed keeping mementos, too. He had somehow managed to transport and articulate entire dragon skeletons down here to keep on display. Valtiel found it curious, brandishing their carcasses so daringly like this.

What was interesting to note was that he only posed his trophies in the lowest catacombs. The ruins they stood in were presumably built far underneath his original temple. The Dov could never reach this far down into the earth, no matter how vicious their rage was. These macabre displays were sequestered away, hidden from sight. No one would see them, aside from Miraak and his closest. You’d wouldn’t even be able to find the displays until you had bypassed dozens of traps first. Miraak hadn’t placed these cadavers out in the open for _all_ to see.

Valtiel and Frea slunk through serpentine hallways, ducking through secret passages until they came across a chamber with a pedestal holding something very unusual.

A single book was resting atop a carved stone pedestal. The cover was black and weathered from the long years it had sat there; an image of swathing tentacles and crab-like pincers created a circular pattern on its center. If Valtiel stared long enough, she could make out the barest green glow pulsing from the impression. A sound like distant blowing wind seemed to originate from it, along with a peculiar groaning noise. Why was it buried so far down in the temple?

Valtiel approached pedestal.

Frea’s voice sounded off not far from the entrance. “There are dark magics at work here. Ready yourself.”  
They loomed over the pedestal, an apprehensive look on Frea’s face.

“This book... It seems wrong, somehow. Here, yet... not. It may be what we seek.” They shared a glance, and Frea nervously backpedalled. It seemed she wasn’t going to risk touching it. Valtiel didn’t blame her. The book did look a little... _off_. She reached out to touch the old tome.

Gently, she ran her hand over the front cover, softly easing it open with her the tips of her fingers. She turned the first few pages over, the soft sound of rustling paper filling her ears. The book smelled decayed and damp.

The spine was stiff, and she pressed firmly to keep the book pages spread.

As soon as she flattened it, whipping tentacles burst forth, wrapping _tightly_ about her head and arms. They coiled around her back, her arms, her neck, and Valtiel jerked back, meaning to yank herself away.

There was nowhere to flee to. A concentrated pain came over her mind, so intense it felt like needles were piercing her eyes. She sucked air in through her teeth, clenching her eyes against the sting. She felt herself being _pulled_. Valtiel hardly noticed the change in atmosphere, the nausea of her churning stomach overpowering all else.

There was little to do other than wait for the pounding in her head to pass, for her ears to stop ringing, and for her heart to claw its way back down from where it jumped up her throat.

Eventually, it stopped. The pain ebbed to a halt and Valtiel tentatively cracked an eye open.

The view that greeted her was _entirely_ different compared to just a moment ago.

Valtiel didn’t know what kind of strange realm the book had brought her to, but she hadn’t expected to find anything like _this_ when she crawled through those catacombs, that was for sure. It felt decidedly different from what she was used to. It wasn’t like anywhere else on Tamriel. Maybe not even on Nirn. Just where in Oblivion had she- Gods! Oblivion! That book probably dropped her out into some outlandish plane like a naked new-born in the woods.

She ran a hand down the side of her face. What plane even was this? Anything could be lurking in the dark here. The air felt cold and damp as she breathed it in. She steeled herself. It was time to focus.

Standing, she took in her surroundings. The sky was a familiar shade of pale green, clusters of pulsing light stretched overhead like twisted cobwebs. Among them, bunches of inky black tentacles writhed at random points, manifesting out of thin air. The smell of wet paper and rotting wood overpowered all else. In the distance, she heard faint chiming. It sounded like a bell tolling, like the large kind found in cathedrals. Underneath that, so softly she almost missed it, was the muffled sounds of something shuffling nearby. The air was humid and dense. She felt strange, like someone was breathing down her neck. She felt watched.

It was unnerving, considering books and rubble surrounded her on all sides. Her instincts told her to get going.

She spied a passage between the heaps of rubble and hastened towards it; her back occasionally jabbed by a loosely stacked book. Squeezing out from the piles, she peered into the dark. There was a large open space before her; loose parchment littered the ground. At the far end, a set of stairs led to a raised platform. Beyond that, a sea of what looked to be ink and a large distant tower. Valtiel felt her breath hang in the air, wisps of heat trapped under her mask pressed against her skin.

Inching back to where she came from, she wondered how she’d get back to Solstheim. When she read the book it brought her here, perhaps she could read it again to return?

She’d need to explore this place later, but for now she ought to go back and inform Frea what the book could do. She could sightsee all she wanted _afterwards_. Taking one last look, she turned away and resolved to explore at a different time.

Without warning, a pair of large clawed hands grasped onto her and hauled her backwards into the light.

Briefly, the surprise kept Valtiel from registering what was happening. When her brain caught up to her, she tried desperately to wriggle out of the monsters’ grasp. Her legs dragged uselessly over rough floor; but the creature was moving too quickly to get any decent leverage.

It seemed tired of her thrashing already, and it stopped to grip her tighter. Its claws dug into her coat, the sharp points threatening to rip the dense fabric, and it yanked her up roughly by the arm. Her shoulder throbbed sharply when it jerked her to her feet.

Valtiel used her new position to try and tear at the monsters’ grip, a stream of curses leaving her mouth. She reached for her quiver with jostled, unsteady hands, planning to drive a bolt through its pasty scales - but her idea was smothered as a second giant seized her other arm.

Rage built in her chest. The thrum of her heart beat loudly in her ears.

She tried to fight their grip, tensing her muscles and digging her heels into the floor as hard as she could. Her struggles just barely succeeded in slowing them down.

For just a moment, her eyes widened, and she stopped fighting.

There were misshapen, twisted creatures _everywhere_. Some were grotesque and tentacled, and it was hard to tell just how many arms they had. The others were gigantic, and looked like a disturbing amalgam of human and amphibian. Their mouths were wide and gaping, and their needle-like teeth were so pronounced she could see them clear across the room.

They gurgled and stared with unblinking eyes as she was marched past. The pervasive groaning noise seemed louder than ever; the distant bell tolls heard even over the otherworldly warbling of the beasts around her.

She was brought back to reality by one of the creatures harshly yanking at her hair. Valtiel shook her head wildly - trying to make it lose its grip - but struggling only made its claws scratch against her scalp. She felt blood trickle through her hair, down to her neck.

She opened her eyes, not realizing she clenched them shut.

It seemed they brought her here for the sake of delivering her to this... person. 

Somehow, he hadn’t noticed her yet. She wasn’t about to bring attention to herself yet, either. 

Valtiel bit down on her lip, silencing her breathing like her life depended on it.

He had his back turned to her; his attention apparently better spent talking to the serpentine dragon beside him. It was deathly quiet as he spoke.

The man’s voice was hushed, but it reached her ears all the same.

“...Change will soon be upon us. Can you _feel_ it? We are racing towards and end... an end to our suffering...”

Her breath felt stifling against the fabric of her mask. The creatures’ collective hissing quieted. Paper rustled quietly underfoot.

The dragon’s blank eyes seemed to focus on her, its great head turning in her direction. Not like a swivel. Like slow grinding stone.

“...Our freedom will be within reach... The time comes soon when -” 

Suddenly, she was pushed forwards - thankfully too tense to fall to her knees. The sound of her hissed gasp could have been as loud as thunder, as it made the man’s shoulders jolt in surprise.

He turned swiftly, facing the trespasser.

For a moment, it seemed as though the small shock of seeing her was enough to stop him from reacting. 

They stared at each other, silent as the grave. His sight pinned her in place. Neither of them twitched.

The man’s left hand sparked and pulsed with magicka; his right drew his sword. The flickering glow of his conjured lightning cast jumping shadows over his golden mask. She fully believed he would electrocute her if she even _thought_ about making a move. She felt like cornered prey. Reconsidered with a grimace. She probably _was_ cornered prey. She had walked straight into a trap, after all.

She refused to let her emotions show any further. The mask concealed her face, but it wouldn’t do to stand and tremble. She rose fully to meet his stare and forced herself to relax. If she was going to get gutted, she wanted an answer or two first.

She quirked her head and stared at him expectantly. Whatever happened next, it was his move. She wasn’t in a position to try anything, surrounded like she was.

The eye-holes of his mask seemed to glare at her venomously. It was familiar in an unfamiliar place. His mask was eerily similar to the other Priest masks she’d come across before. Valtiel dug her gloved fingers into her satchel’s strap.

“Answer me,” he commanded in a low voice, sword raised to point at her. “Who are you? Why do you intrude here?”

“That’s an interesting question, _Miraak_.” The mask, the robes, the _dragon_... Valtiel would have to be utterly brainless to not put two and two together. “Weren’t _you_ the one who sent men to kill me? Shouldn’t _you_ know exactly why I’m here?” Her head tilted to the side; she had suspicion in her eyes. An instinct deep inside screamed at her to _fight_. This man had triggered dozens of impulses, each pulling in a different direction. She willed her blood to stop burning. She felt trails of it still running down her neck.

Miraak scoffed dismissively. “I have done no such thing. I have no interest in killing -” 

He cut himself off, his eyes flashing with _understanding_ beneath his mask. Miraak hummed as he approached the woman, the _Dovahkiin_ before him. He could feel it now, the way her blood burned brightly; how the sil of another dovah called to him. 

“Ahh...” The smugness in his voice was _palpable_. “I see now. You are Dragonborn. I can feel it...” He delicately traced a finger under her jaw to get a better look into her eyes. Though she seemed to tolerate him in her space; her eyes focused sharply on him in a challenging way. This closely, he could make out the thin slits of her pupils. Miraak smiled at her brashness.

“You must have been the one to slay Alduin. Well done. I could have dealt with him myself, but I chose a different path.” His finger left her jaw to tap her softly on the nose. Her mask wasn’t so high that he couldn’t see the way her face scrunched adorably in offense. 

Miraak looked at the woman in front of him, her dark clothes difficult to see amidst Apocrypha’s gloom. 

“Listen to me, mal dovahkiin,” His voice was heavy and low. “Some things are best left alone. It will not be long until Solstheim is mine. I already control the minds of its people. You'd do well to stay uninvolved.” 

As if to drive that threat home, the man Shouted foreign Words; the sound deafening in her ears. Whipping tendrils of magic sliced the air around him, his body cloaked in phantom scales; a crown of dragon horns reaching high off his head. The colours reflected their brilliant light in her silvery eyes.

He gestured to the floating creatures around him. “Send her back. She can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel.” 

Valtiel didn't even get the chance to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I got lazy (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)
> 
> I'm holding off from writing translations since they're minor words we've already seen before.


	6. Gol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translation - Earth
> 
> I may or may not have edited this chapter at three in the morning so if it's really bad I'm really sorry ( ; ω ; )

The days had passed rapidly since her strange experience with that Black Book.

Valtiel wasn’t quite sure what to make of what she’d seen. Recent events had put some sizable holes in her hypotheses. Thus far, Miraak appeared to match her companions’ descriptions exactly. He was threatening, self-righteous, overconfident. It made his actual actions all the more confusing.

She slid a bolt into the groove of her crossbow, pulling back the string.

She wondered why he’d make such an obvious mistake, sending her back. He had been in an excellent position to attack her. Miraak must be truly arrogant to toy with her like that; to play strange games in favour of throwing away a perfect opportunity. One thing she _didn’t_ wonder was why he warned her away. No self-respecting intrigant would want a pest shredding their plans.

Valtiel shifted, angling her crossbow to better align the cultist’s head to her sights. There was one at the far end - the one she was currently aiming at - and two others. One near the Wind Stone, and one underneath the outcropping she perched on. She had to be smart about this. There were a lot of innocents down there.

Breathe, she told herself. This is merely the latest obstacle in your absurd life. She’d find the truth soon. The _full_ truth. 

She wished her mind would be quiet.

She’d never get the right focus like this, agonizing over nothing. Maybe if she had been a little more cautious, she could have gleaned more information from him. Observed him from a safer distance, maybe. Seen if she couldn’t have gotten a better idea of his plans. But, as it turned out, throwing around accusations didn’t make others feel inclined to talk to you. The corners of her mouth twitched, fighting a scowl.

Her harsh exhale fogged the air around her. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now. She deliberately smoothed the tension from her brow and squeezed the trigger. A bolt flew through the air with precision. The cultist dropped like a stone, and the others leapt into action - racing to where their friend had fallen with spells and weapons in hand. She killed them as easily as she did the first. In the haste to reach their fallen friend, they gathered in a close pair around the body. It was all too easy to shoot them, one after the other in rapid fire.

Not a single villager noticed the brief scuffle, Miraak’s brainwashing kept them focused solely on their tasks.

Once Frea had roused her from her post-Black Book stupor, she suggested journeying with her to the nearby village, to speak with her father Storn. He instructed her to go to Saering's Watch, to learn the same word Miraak did eons ago, and use that knowledge to liberate the other All-Maker Stones. In doing so, he hoped her Thu’um would be enough to free his people of the dark influence that overpowered them. Not long after her rendezvous with Odahviing, she had what she needed, the first word of Bend Will tucked away into her ever-growing repertoire.

Storn had said they were connected, somehow. Miraak and Valtiel, through their shared birthright. She hoped he meant that strictly metaphorically. Miraak hardly seemed like someone you’d want to share a bond with.

Valtiel recollected her ammunition, ripping her bolts from the corpses. She tied her crossbow off and hung its strap back over her shoulder. 

It was time to see what this Shout could do. 

Easing through the thin crowd, Valtiel stalked towards the Stone until she was less than a foot away - standing in the shallow pool at its base. The water rippled around her shins, ricocheting against other wavelets. There was no telling what would happen once she let loose her Shout. Readying her swords, Valtiel inhaled deeply; calling forth her Thu’um and pulling the Word from deep within.

“Gol!” The sound of her voice split through the air like a cracked whip.

The earth beneath her feet trembled, and the villagers around her stirred as if waking from a long slumber. The sounds of their collective murmured confusion soon gave way to panic as the ground continued to quake. The edifice encompassing the Wind Stone began to crumble and burn away as if it was held together by paper and prayers. It all crescendoed to a peak as the intense quaking splintered the burnt structure to pieces, exploding with concentrated force and slicing through the air. Chunks of stone were shot deep into ground.

The few Skaal who still gawked were dragged away as quickly as their neighbours could haul them.

The water around Valtiel’s shins bubbled as if it were boiling; water turning black like ink. With an otherworldly roar, a large black creature rose from the waters, manifesting as if from nowhere. It was the tall kind, like the ones that had dragged her away after she read the Book. The type that liked to lurk in the shadows. The moment it spotted her, it lunged - long arm swiping, twisting apart to create lashing tentacles like so many cruel whips.

Valtiel’s lip curled into a silent snarl, leaping back out of its swinging range. Contrary to what the bards would tell you, a real fight never lasted for more than a few minutes. If Valtiel was on her game, not even that. She darted to its side, slashing viciously with three deep strokes. Blood and flesh were ripped from its wounds. The lurker bellowed in pain, a deep warbling cry; it reared back, leg raised to crush her underfoot. The force it put behind its stomp forced its body to bend down far - dropping its head up close and personal. A potent thrust, and Valtiel drove her blade up through its gaping fish-mouth, splitting upwards through its skull. Its black blood spoiled the shine off her swords, dark splotches catching the weak light.

Its body collapsed unceremoniously to the ground with a dull splash, wallowing in the small pool of water.

The Beast Stone wasn’t far off. If she left now, she’d have it cleared before she even ran out of daylight.

Valtiel left the lurker’s body behind and headed southeast.

-❧-

Something felt... _wrong_. Miraak couldn’t quite place what was different. There was a change in Apocrypha’s damp air. Something had shifted, twisted outside his grasp and darted away beyond his peripherals. It felt confining; constricting like a hand around his neck. It was as if Apocrypha’s walls had closed in ever so slightly.

He closed his eyes, straightening his spine. Let his breath out slow. He settled to the floor and pushed his back against an altar. Focusing intently, he reached out to the impressionable minds of his underlings. The pulsing web of his influence connected to each of them like a thread, the tangled trails flowing all the way back to him at the source. He fixated on his senses, linking himself with the collective hive-mind he amassed, and... came up short. He had been stopped in place. It felt like suddenly hitting a wall - impenetrable and solid - or as if a phantom limb had its fingers chopped at the tips. It sent an _itching_ shudder up his spine. There was a blind spot in his vision. He’d been cut off.

He needed to know what had happened. Why and how the threads had been severed.

With dark flickering magicka in his hands, Miraak began channelling. He may not be able to leave this realm in flesh, but the spirit and mind could go places the body could not. With a hushed incantation, he closed his eyes...

... And opened them to a washed-out sky.

Miraak didn’t tarry to look at the scenery - the version of Nirn viewed through his projection had granted him no more than the barest essentials. He still had his full range of vision, but his sight was blurred and colourless. He could hear and feel, but his senses were dulled. The natural world - as his shade experienced it - was but a pale shadow of its actual environment. It never prompted him to linger - to bathe in the sunlight or try to feel a soft breeze, for it was too artificial to enjoy anything - but it would be enough to take him to the source of his troubles.

He looked around, examining the rubble. Whatever remained of the stonework had been completely destroyed, as if someone simply rent it to pieces. Backing up to gain a better picture, it didn’t take much to figure out what had gone wrong. The Wind Stone, one of his beacons, had somehow bucked his control. It made little sense. How had the Stone reverted to its previous unhindered state? _Why?_ It would be a nightmare to bring it back under heel - months of carefully chipping his way through to the outside world had gone into each and every Stone! The Skaal had nearly finished building around it! Miraak had to swallow his irritated growl.

He looked up above the stone, expecting to see a sickly green - and noticed for the first time that the colour had changed. It was whiter, cleaner somehow. Almost completely pure, if it weren’t for the small black slivers that occasionally slipped from within it. Miraak glared at the rock like it was to blame.

Oh, but he knew who was responsible for this. He knew _exactly_ who was responsible.

This couldn’t be left un-checked.

-❧-

It wasn’t difficult to find her. After a few additional incantations and divinations, Miraak was able to pin-point her location in the southeastern ash wastes, no doubt already intending to steal the Beast Stone away from him. She was already making steady progress. It hadn’t taken long for her to understand how to use the Bend Will shout, and she’d already captured the Wind Stone. Perhaps she had help, perhaps she didn’t - but her startling initiative had to be curbed somehow. 

His actions were limited due to his confinement - if he needed to detain the Last for any reason, someone on Mundus would have to do it. The problem lied in the fact that he didn't have the manpower to hunt her down physically. The point of his indoctrination wasn’t to militarize the island, it was to use Solstheim’s collective populace in place of his draugr. The combined power of their worship was the tool he needed to escape Apocrypha. On his own, he wouldn’t have the strength to break away, or to prevent Mora from capturing him again.

However, if what she told him held any merit, it seemed there were others who had begun to worship him more consciously. He remembered she claimed to have encountered cultists in his temple. If he could locate and somehow come in contact with them - in the flesh or otherwise - then perhaps he could come up with new strategies to hinder or even apprehend her, should the need for more drastic measures arise. Besides, there was no strong need to kill her - yet. Perhaps he was over thinking things. He wasn’t even sure if being ‘diplomatic’ would help in this scenario - she seemed more likely to try and fight him than negotiate with him. Anything was worth trying once, however - which was why he was presently trailing after her in the ash right now.

Her silhouette was familiar. While Apocrypha’s abysmal lighting didn’t allow him to view his new adversary properly, the straining light of Solstheim’s sun was more than adequate now.

As he had seen before, a long black coat draped over the length of her body. It followed the curve of her back and waist neatly, and was likely tailored to fit. A satchel with a thick strap crossed her chest, with a few colourful necklaces settling overtop it. The heavy fabric split into two segments at her belt line, the twin tails of her coat stopping mid-shin.

The only legitimate pieces of armor she wore were ornate metal plates affixed to her bracers, which were presently wrapped around a set of elbow length gloves. Combined with her trousers, vest, and high boots, she was covered nearly head to toe. It seemed that, like him, she preferred to wear a mask. While his was made of an ancient golden metal, hers was a simple fabric that sat under her grey eyes, over her nose and cheeks. A pair of goggles with dark red lenses rested atop her head. The only exposed skin he could see was above her mask, and even then the fringe of her short hair covered most of it. She exposed enough to let her see, but nothing more.

She must be a dexterous combatant, then, to not bother with anything genuinely protective. She couldn’t have survived this long otherwise. Not without a solid defense. Perhaps he could deduce more about her fighting style from her apparel later. He definitely hadn’t exerted himself just to _ogle_.

Lost in his thoughts, Miraak realized the Last had been staring at him expectantly for at least a few moments. Not for the first time, he was glad he kept his face covered. At least his mask could glower menacingly for him while he thought on... other things.

“Miraak,” she greeted amicably, nodding her head in acknowledgement.

“Dragonborn,” he said, finally breaking his silence. “I see you’ve come to realize how the Stones work. You may learn quickly, but I still doubt you know the true impact of your actions.” She had caught on to the fact that he was using them, obviously, but it was unlikely she had even the barest idea of his real motivations.

“I take it you’ve seen my recent work. I’m surprised you haven’t put more effort into protecting your assets, Mir. That Stone was practically handed to me on a silver platter. You might as well have your followers dress the rest up in bows and ribbons if you’re just going to gift them to me.”

Miraak could _hear_ the sly grin in her voice, she was teasing and much too smug. Always the firebrand. At first, he simply thought it due to being cornered. Even the most timid of creatures would lash out when threatened, after all. Either way, her attitude persisted.

“Do not congratulate yourself so soon, dragonborn. Recapturing one Stone is hardly an achievement. If you’re only antagonizing me because you seek a challenge, then I will give it to you _gladly._ ” He mirrored her playful tone, refusing to let her think he’d be offended so easily. She acted like they were old friends, giving each other trouble for fun. It was odd. They were not close. They would never _be_ close.

If his deliberately mocking attitude affected her, it didn’t show. If anything, it encouraged her.

“Oh, good,” her eyes crinkled at the corners, “Where's the fun without a few extra obstacles? It’ll give me something to look forward to.”

“Mind your arrogance, dragonborn. The Wind Stone will be mine again soon. Eventually, you’ll realize your efforts were for naught.” The humor trickled out of his voice then, if only for the sake of reasserting the reality of their circumstances. The exact thing they were presently ignoring while they stood around talking.

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Her eyes still kept that light in them, the same sort he had seen when she first dropped into his lap. His lip curled up in the barest smirk at the memory. “It’s easy to make bold claims, isn’t it? For your sake, that better not be an empty promise.” She adjusted her stance then; cocking a hip out and relaxing an arm, palm facing out and gesturing lazily to the open air.

Miraak gave a breathy chuckle, sauntering over and leaning down into her space. “Perish the thought, _dii shir_. I assure you I am not just _talk_.” A half-smile spread across his face. He relished in the way his close proximity left her straining to lean away from him, tense like a coiled snake. For all her jokes a scant moment ago, it seemed she wasn't near as relaxed as she played herself up to be. The irony of it wasn't lost on him.

He opened his mouth, ready with another quick-witted rejoinder - and paused. The words turned sour in his mouth before they even fully formed. He wasn’t sure how he’d gone from intending to frighten her away to trying to joke with her. He straightened, his light mood vanishing. Miraak huffed.

“Enough prattle. I have already indulged you more than I should have." The dragonborn looked at him with an eyebrow raised, seemingly nonplussed with his sudden mood swing. "Consider this your final and only warning. Do not meddle in my affairs. Leave now, before you do something you’ll come to regret.”

Her laugh was harsh and unbelieving, as if his request startled it out of her. “And leave Solstheim under your _loving_ care? You’re asking for too much.”

The flat menace in his voice was deliberate and carefully measured. “Then we have nothing more to discuss. You have no idea what you have gotten involved in. If you will not leave quietly, then you are deserving of the consequences.”

“Good day, dragonborn,” he said simply, turning away from her. With a lazy, backhanded wave, Miraak left her standing in the ash. He relaxed his concentration and let his apparition fade, opening his eyes to Apocrypha’s familiar landscape.

A few hours later he let out an aggravated snarl at feeling yet _another_ stone ripped from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title - Old man yells at ornery woman to get off of his property.
> 
> Dovahzul for this chapter:
> 
> Dii shir - My dear
> 
> Side note: I don’t really like how ham-fisted describing OC’s can be in creative writing, but it only occurred to me after re-reading the previous chapters that I never *actually* explained what Valtiel looked like. So, I crammed in this awkward description. Hopefully it was done organically enough that it wasn’t too obnoxious. Honestly though, if my portrayal of her clothes still came up short, you could probably just look up Bloodborne’s Hunter Garb by Team Tal for a wayyy better visual. It’s exactly what I was aiming to explain here, sans that little cape. Seriously, bless those guys for making that mod. I never play without it.
> 
> As always, feedback would be very appreciated!! Did the time skip at the beginning feel too choppy? Did it still make sense in context of the story? I’m still very new to writing so criticism is always very welcome ヾ(´ ▽ ` )


	7. Deyra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translation - Daedra

The sun seemed to shine a little brighter as of late; the air felt _cleaner_. Valtiel felt lighter, stepping briskly over the swaying footbridge. Getting some decent rest had done her good. With the Wind and Beast Stones safely under her control, she finally felt safe enough to rest her eyes for a few hours. Never knowing where she’d wake up - or what she’d be doing when she finally did - had kept her from risking anything more than a light doze. It had been decidedly refreshing, and Valtiel would be the first to admit that she had sorely needed the reprieve.

Water rushed down the mountainside’s craggy slopes, the rapids loud in her ears. The village wasn’t far off, now. She could see the tips of houses in the distance.

There was so, so much more to be done still. The Water, Earth, and Sun Stone still needed cleansing. The Tree Stone had to be as well, but Miraak’s claws had dug into it so deeply she didn’t know how she could reclaim it. Maybe, if the others were cleared first, his influence would be weak enough for her to finally take it?

She hummed at the thought. It’d be a long time until she could try anything. It was best to take things one step at a time. Hence why she wanted to speak with Storn and Frea. They had both lived on Solstheim their whole lives. Valtiel wanted to ask if they could help chart the most efficient path to reach the rest of the Stones. The sooner she cleansed them, the better. While Miraak’s influence may not be _directly_ malicious, the side effects were still present, and significant. Sleep deprivation with no reprieve, combined with constant labour, was a recipe for disaster.

It left people vulnerable, and the body weak. It would be difficult to think, with your concentration crushed. Illnesses became deadly when your body couldn’t rest. Ordinarily, a mild cold or fever would be nothing alarming; but left untreated in a harsh environment like Solstheim? That could be fatal. Additionally, Miraak’s “workhands” never seemed to stop and care for themselves. That Dunmer she had seen on her first day had probably frozen to death by now. His hands had been so black, he couldn't have recovered from frostbite that severe overnight.

Even out of all these side-effects, that still didn’t touch on the _hallucinations_ that came later. Then again, they probably helped Miraak all the more. It would be easier to control people when they were too exhausted to even think, too addled from their wrecked bodies and minds.

“- Those books are _evil_ , mage! You should not be seeking them out, you should be seeking to destroy them!” Valtiel’s ears perked at hearing Frea’s familiar voice carry through the village. There was a small gathering of people outside the Greathall. Valtiel squinted her eyes against the sun, trying to see who was there. A deeper voice rumbled then, too low to be heard. Ah, that must have been Storn up ahead. They seemed to be speaking - or maybe yelling - to a man in red robes. Judging by the _impressive_ wingspan his shoulder pads had, it had to be a Dunmer visiting.

Upon seeing her, Storn waved her over.

“Ah - Dragonborn. Come here. We have met someone here who may be able to help you.”

“-- Help me? How?”  
“-- Help her? _Why_?”

Valtiel and the ‘mage’ shared a brief glance after their shared interjection.

Storn raised a mitten, silencing them like children. The mage had a decidedly unimpressed expression on his wrinkled face. Valtiel gave him a sidelong glance, examining him more closely. He was Dunmer, that was obvious. A deep red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, and there was gold trim on the fringes of his wine-red robes. A swirling, ornate design spanned from somewhere beneath his scarf to his lap, with a thick red fabric and belt circling his waist. As a whole, his attire was well made, and the mage stood out as someone of great stature.

“Dragonborn, we all know Miraak must be stopped. The Black Book you found within his temple is proof that there is something dark and unnatural at work here. I believe that this mage, Neloth, can teach you more than we can. It may help you find a stronger connection between Miraak’s power and that which corrupted the Wind Stone.”

Valtiel turned towards the mage then, questions on her lips, but Neloth had his own ready. “Miraak? Why would you be concerned about Miraak? He’s been dead for thousands of years.”

This time, she found her tongue. “No, not dead. Miraak is alive - and I believe, deeply related to the troubles here, if not the source of them.”

“I assume you have proof? You cannot make a wild assumption such as that without backing it up first.”

Valtiel nodded, opening the top of her satchel and pulling the Black Book out from its depths.

“I do. I’ve seen him on more than one occasion. Frea and I have both been to Miraak’s temple. When I found this Book inside and read it, I was brought... somewhere else. I met Miraak somewhere inside that realm. He has confirmed that he’s been exploiting the Stones and subjugating Solstheim’s inhabitants for his own purposes. I’ve been trying to slow his progress by cleansing the Stones, but I need to find more of those Black Books so I may better understand the connection between Miraak, the Books, and the corruption affecting the Stones.”

“So, he _is_ alive, then? That gives me an awful lot to think about.” Neloth hummed in thought. “Yes, I can be of assistance here. I’ve even located a Book that I believe may be able to help you...”

Their conversation trailed on, Valtiel and Neloth swapping questions, with Frea or Storn occasionally offering their own insight. Eventually, Valtiel learned that the Black Books had belonged to Hermaeus Mora, which she was not happy to hear. She had wanted nothing more to do with the Prince when she had met him during her stint at the College, after he had _vaporized_ his follower Septimus to ash. It was not comforting to hear she would have to dive into his realm, Apocrypha, possibly many times over, until Miraak had been dealt with.

Neloth eventually acquiesced to accompanying her to a nearby ruin, Nchardak, so she could find out more. After a time, Neloth and Valtiel agreed to meet outside the ruin at noon the next day.

-❧-

“Nchardak, an ancient Dwemer city, on the eastern side of Solstheim. It's largely flooded now, but luckily the main library is still above the water. It seems the dwarves were as interested in the Black Books as we are. They seem to have believed this one to be particularly valuable, as it is secured in a mechanism which I have been unable to open. Yet.”

These thrice-damned dwemer ruins. How is it that they got on her nerves so _badly_? Nearly every time she went in one, she’d come out the other side more battered and bloodier than she’d have liked. That, and the machines inside simply soaked up her bolts like sponges. If she didn’t break her ammunition taking down centurions, she’d lose them through some ugly grated flooring forever. How anyone could hold a genuine, vested interest in the dwemer after seeing their ruins was beyond her. Of course, logically, she knew that it was the mystery of how they disappeared that held everyone's attention, but Valtiel just couldn’t get over the fact that her mood would immediately dampen upon seeing a sphere or a spider, like it was a conditioned response.

The Book had been encased under glass, in what Neloth dubbed ‘the reading room.’ A short elevator ride later, and they had reached the Great Chamber. It seemed particularly exciting for Neloth, who was eagerly telling her about the city, fawning over display panels and consoles. For her part, Valtiel just did her best to appear interested, nodding along and asking enough questions to keep Neloth pleased.

She reached the end of the platform. Murky water lapped at the stony floor. Valtiel _glared_ out over the flooded city like it had done her personal wrong.

Just one _extra obstacle_ , right? Gods, she could kick herself right now. She almost wished Miraak would show up out of the blue again, just so it’d give her something to _do_ beyond going through the motions of dungeon crawling.

Maybe she should think a little harder on why she hoped _he’d_ be the first person she’d see, but that thought never quite rose to the surface. It’s not something Valtiel wanted to dwell on. When they spoke in the ash wastes, it felt like a game. See just how much teasing she could get away with. It was almost fun, when he had played along. Miraak promised a _competition_ when they had met. Whether with words or with blades, he posed a challenge she was thrilled to engage with - it was adrenalizing. If anyone thought to ask, she’d blame it on her dragon blood.

Speaking with Miraak had been... something completely novel.

Either way, _something_ must have gone wrong with her, as her conscience _sharply_ reminded. She shouldn’t start craving Miraak's company when she would likely have to fight for every inch of ground she clawed back from him. With that reminder, she shredded the thought out of her musings, out of her head.

She couldn’t afford to entertain whatever random daydream floated through her mind right now. She had an objective here, and she couldn’t get distracted wishing she could play with fire.

Neloth’s nasally voice was... almost a welcome distraction.

"Looks like we'll need those bridges down in order to get the pumps in here working." Neloth walked along a stone precipice, filthy water churning in a large tepid pool. Most of the chamber was flooded, baring other similar platforms in each corner.

"The last cube is somewhere in here. I hope it won't require more swimming around in this filth."

“Couldn’t agree more.” Valtiel muttered. Why couldn’t these ruins be flooded with _warm_ water for once?

-❧-

By the time Neloth and Valtiel had restarted the boilers, she wanted nothing more than some quiet. While their foray into the ruins hadn’t been too painful, her precious coat had a few more tears in it and she had some extra bruises to show for the ordeal. Her ribs throbbed with the ache of them. She ought to be grateful it wasn’t worse, she reminded herself. Neloth was as subtle as a brick lobbed through a window. At the very least, it meant the automatons attention focused solely on him, allowing Valtiel to lurk in the shadows undetected. Honestly, it was as if he aggravated everything in a room just by standing in it.

Gods, Neloth was _loud_ , though. Most of her time in those ruins was dedicated to making sure the old elf didn’t get roughed up too badly. Master wizard or no, he was a disaster magnet.

Riding up the elevator, they returned to the reading room. Neloth was already waiting by the control pedestal, urging her to activate it. Insisting she have the first look, Valtiel approached the lectern, taking hold of the book. A familiar pain entered her mind, and she shut her eyes tightly against it.

When she opened them again, it was to poison-green skies and piles upon piles of books.

Her senses bloomed to sudden clarity. The pain hadn’t been as sharp, this time. Maybe it was because she expected it, or maybe because her body was starting to acclimate to Apocrypha’s realm. Soon, the feeling faded to a negligible tingling in her fingers. Readying her crossbow, she made her way through the dark.

Dark water surrounded the small platform she stood on. As she had seen before, it was dark in colour. Now that Valtiel had the opportunity to take her time, she eyed the ‘water’ more thoroughly. It almost seemed to... writhe. The more she looked at it, the less it looked like water, and more like an ocean of tightly knit, tangled tentacles. And, it seemed, the ocean was looking back at her.

Individual eyes breached the waters surface, blinking. Reasonably disturbed, Valtiel quickly back away from the edge.

“O-kaaay...” she murmured nervously to herself, "That's definitely different." Silence seemed to be law, in Apocrypha. Valtiel was typically quiet anyway, but it seemed as though her footsteps were deliberately muffled here. The only noise that reached her ears were the strange groaning sounds inherent to the realm, and the occasional rustling of paper. There was nothing else.

The sooner she sorted through the Book’s contents, the better.

There was some strange light in the center of the platform, and she moved towards it like a moth to flame. It was a curious looking thing. It almost looked like a pedestal, but the sides of it curved down towards the ground like flower petals. Three tentacle-like protrusions extended from it; with one of them seemingly weighed down by a glowing, ball-like cluster of lights. The whole of it was covered in dark, swirling patterns like so many eyes.

There was nowhere left for her to go on this platform. Nothing else of note aside from this strange pedestal. Looking around, this _thing_ in front of her seemed to be the only device that could let her progress.

Tentatively, Valtiel raised her arm, fingers uncurling slowly. Gently, she pressed a finger to the cluster. It slipped from the tip of the tentacle, and a bridge of sorts unwound ‘till it was laying flat against the waters surface. Valtiel eyes followed its trail, over to a corridor that flexed and moved like a pendulum. It was too dark to see what lied down the passage, but it would undoubtedly take her deeper into Apocrypha, and hopefully bring her closer to finishing the book. Crossbow in hand, she ventured into the depths.

-❧-

Apocrypha was nothing but mazes atop mazes atop mazes. The stacks of Books upon Books created far, twisting towers that climbed higher than a person could crane their neck. Complex and elaborate collapsed ruins were the only landmarks, and consisted of the only solid land in the realm. Above her, Mora’s roiling tentacles and disembodied eyes oversaw all.

It seemed as though the simple act of opening the final book was enough to summon Hermaeus Mora. Valtiel had sworn she’d never tangle with the Prince again, but here they were; just as she was ready to finish reading the Book for good. Its innumerable limbs tangled with each other listlessly. Every disembodied eye fixated on her with contempt.

“We meet again, Dragonborn." Mora’s slow gurgling sounded in her ears quietly, its voice like waves lapping at a shore. "You may have sought to reject me, yet here you stand. Your journey has led you here, to my realm, as I knew it would.” 

“What do you want from me this time, Mora?” Valtiel’s tone was carefully measured. She hated dealing with Mora; but being outright insulting within its own realm would be a probable death sentence, and she had more important things to do than die here.

“Your progress since obtaining my Oghma Infinium has been rapid. And now, I find you here, following in my servant’s footsteps. Like Miraak before you, you are Dragonborn. You seek knowledge and power. To learn how to bend the world to your will.” Tentacles spread over the uneven floor like growing roots. Valtiel kept her face impassive, knowing she couldn’t run now even if she needed to. Mora’s presence was impossible to ignore, and she kept her eyes trained diligently on the largest opposite her.

“I did come here to learn what Miraak knows, yes,” She confirmed, “But I am not here to serve you. I’m here to defeat Miraak so Solstheim may be freed.” The sound of Mora’s limbs sounded behind her as they latticed together, like how a person would with their hands.

“You will serve me, willing or no. Even Miraak needed someone to whisper secrets into his mind. All he learned, he learned from _me_. I know what you want, Dragonborn, and I gift it to you now as a show of goodwill.” A cold tentacle pressed gently to the back of her head, and Valtiel’s eyes widened sightlessly as a Word was _burned_ into her mind. It was all she could do to silence her breath and strangle her gasp before it could escape her throat. When Mora spoke again, she whipped her eyes up to meet his unblinking ones.

“Here - the second Word of Power. Use it to bend the wills of mortals to your purpose. I will tell you this, however - it is _not_ enough. Miraak knows the final Word. Without that, you will never overcome him.” Its tentacle never left her hair. “I can grant you the same power as he wields, but all knowledge has its price.”

It wanted something more from her. Of course. Naturally, it would ask when she couldn’t say no. If she refused here, it was likely Mora could keep her here until the isolation of Apocrypha made her crack and take up the bargain out of desperation. Was this how Mora had kept Miraak under heel all these years? Valtiel couldn’t imagine Miraak would stay of his own volition...

That brought another question to the forefront of her mind, and she asked it without hesitation. “You say that Miraak is your servant. Why conspire with me against him? What reason would you have to help me?”

Mora’s warbling gurgle could be construed as a dark chuckle. “Miraak has served me long and well, and he was rewarded. But... he grows _restless_ under my guidance.” Mora whispered like they were sharing a secret. Then again, they could be. Who knew how far Mora’s voice travelled within its own realm? Miraak could have been listening in right now, for all Valtiel knew. “Leaving my realm may let Miraak spread my influence, but it would free him from my direct control. I believe it may be time to replace him with a... newer, more loyal servant... one who still appreciates the gifts I can give.”

One of the limbs at her back stroked languidly up her spine, like how someone would pet a cat. Valtiel didn’t shudder, but only through intense concentration.

“... And what’s your price for giving me the final Word?”

“Knowledge for knowledge.” Mora stated. “The Skaal have hidden their secrets from me well, but it’s time for this knowledge to be added to my library. Send the Skaal shaman to me, and I will give you what you desire.”

“I can’t imagine they’ll give up their secrets easily.”

“If you refuse to give me what I want, you will _never_ find you what you seek. You could spend a hundred lifetimes searching my library, but you will never find what you need. Not until you've given me what I have requested.” With that final warning, Mora retracted its long appendages, and they slithered back to him like dead snakes. The mass of smoke and limbs evaporated as soon as it came, and Valtiel was left alone once again.

Or so she believed, until a glint from a golden mask caught her eye.

Valtiel ripped the Black Book open, letting it whisk her away from Apocrypha - and slammed it shut with finality back in Nchardak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could be summed up as one long dungeon crawl. I really wish I could've summarized this whole thing in one large time skip, but there's a piece of information here that will be important later. We'll get back to the actually entertaining stuff with Miraak soon, I promise!


	8. Vopraan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translation - Unrest
> 
> Dovahzul translations at the bottom.

"...So, it falls to me to be the one to give up the secrets to our ancient enemy. I do not know if I have the strength to face him. With Miraak's corruption of the Stones... the Oneness of the land is disrupted, and our connection to the All-Maker is broken. But, I cannot see any other course of action left." Storn sighed, forlorn. His forebears had told him there would come a day when Herma-Mora would win. When the Skaal would be forced to give up their ancient knowledge to their age-old foe. The thought that he would be the one to surrender their secrets settled uncomfortably over his mind, but it may very well be something he must resign himself to.

Just as he had made to stand, to hold out a hand and ask for the Book, the Dragonborn’s own gripped his shoulder, pressing him back down into his seat. Storn looked up at the Dragonborn, her bright inhuman eyes reflecting the fading sunlight. She stood like a pillar before him; her gloved fingers curling into his thick coat.

Slowly, Valtiel shook her head.

“We still have plenty of time to mull this over. There are at least three other Stones that still require purification. Perhaps after they’ve been cleansed, and after more deliberation, we can decide whether or not we should speak with Mora.” It would be even better if she could find a different way to learn the Shout all together, honestly. Mora had said the only way to learn the Shout was through _it_ , implying there was no such wall on Solstheim that could give her what she needed. That didn’t mean she had to rush through this, however.

From his seat, Storn exhaled slowly through his nose, nodding once.

“That may be best,” he agreed, “I will think on what you ask of me, to decide if it is necessary, or just another of Herma-Mora's tricks.”

-❧-

A few weeks went by, and Valtiel had been busy. Since speaking with Storn, she’d kept herself occupied by drifting between the other settlements of Solstheim. The Earth and Sun Stones had been cleansed, through some careful effort. It appeared as though Miraak was doubling down in his efforts to impede her progress. In his haste to compensate for his other losses, it seemed as though the people under his control were forced to work thrice as hard. Not so long ago, those under Miraak’s influence would mumble their chant under their breath, but now every stanza erupted from their mouths in time with their beating hammers. The edifice around the Earth Stone near Raven Rock was all but done by the time she arrived - and once the lurkers had been slain, it had taken some effort to rouse Raven Rock’s residents from their shock. Some were sent to recover in their homes, with a local priestess occasionally stopping by to tend to the worst cases.

Other errands filled empty hours. While Valtiel could never force enough enthusiasm to keep the pretense of an eager and plucky attitude, her Breton culture had been ingrained deeply into her. Every child in High Rock knew the exact value of favours, service, and generosity - so she occupied her time to distract from her racing mind. The ebony Mines had since been re-opened, among other things. She’d collected a few more Black Books, but hadn’t bothered to read them - all the while she’d refocus on her problem over and over again, turning different possibilities over in her mind’s eye. It seemed as though there really was no other trace of the Shout on the island, making Mora’s ‘request’ appear more impassible by the day.

Valtiel weighed what she had to work with. The Greybeards seemed to know nearly every Shout there was to know; maybe she ought to try her luck with them? She threw the idea away not long after. Asking for help would only grate against Arngeir’s old sensibilities even further. He’d already proven he wanted nothing to do with Miraak or Solstheim, and expected her to do the same. Inquiring about the third Word would prove she’d intentionally ignored his explicit warnings, and that would drive the stake between them even further. She was already walking on thin ice with Arngier. Between briefly conspiring with the Blades and her current ‘lifestyle’, it seemed that even tolerating her within High Hrothgar was a strain. The fact that she continued to ignore his council might prove to the Greybeards she was hell-bent on enacting violence at every turn, and they might revoke their aid completely.

It would be better not to rock the boat. Valtiel ran a hand through her choppy hair. She’d have to quietly file Arngier and Paarthurnax’s help away as a last resort, for the time being.

If they were out of the question, Valtiel would need the next logical option. Drawing in her breath, she called for Odahviing.

-❧-

“Unslaad krosis, Dovahkiin. My apologies. I cannot help you learn the final Word of Power. The Thu’um you ask of simply does not exist.” Odahviing’s head was bowed politely in apology, the spikes on his chin nearly low enough to trace whispering patterns in the ashy soil. Valtiel looked at him pityingly. It was bizarre to see him act so formally. He looked more like he was reporting in for duty, not answering a quick question. Valtiel wished she had it in her to say something uplifting, a bit of levity would make her feel like she was on safer ground. There were more important things than her personal discomfort, however - and the prime example was on the tip of her tongue.

“How can that be?” She asked him. The Shout obviously came from _somewhere_ , and language was fundamental to the Dov. How could any one of them _not_ know a Shout? “The first Word was etched into a Word Wall, and I learned the second from Hermaeus Mora. There has to be more to this.”

“It was taught to you by aan deyra?” He seemed surprised then, lifting his head up from the ground with piqued interest.

“Yes, it gifted the second word to me as a ‘show of goodwill’ or so it claimed. I learned of it while I was in Apocrypha.”

“That would explain why I cannot tell you,” he began primly, “The Dov did not create this shout. While it is true every dovah feels the call to power, we need no Rotmulaag to exert our will. It is something intrinsic - a base instinct. That the deyra taught you the second Word confirms this Thu’um was made by no dovah \- but by a darker power. If your search for faal vax sovenne has led you to this Thu’um, then I would tell you to beware its power. By learning this Shout, you would walk the same dubious path as Miraak.” Odahviing’s raspy voice reminded her of Paarthurnax, when he was focused on his teachings. It would have been almost comforting, had their moods been a little lighter and the circumstances not so dire.

Valtiel paced a few steps away from Odahviing; wrapping her arms around herself.

Her eyes roved over the distant horizon.

“I hoped this wouldn’t end at yet another impasse. If I can’t find some other way of learning the Shout, Storn will have to give up secrets that had been confidential for _generations_ as payment.”

“Is that such an unreasonable price to pay? Something for something. What could aan mal lahiik keep that is so valuable? What is more important than putting an end to faal vax?” This time, Odahviing wasn’t being dismissive, his voice merely curious.

He didn’t understand why she was so concerned about one man’s fate over the hundreds currently suffering. To be quite honest, Valtiel wasn’t sure either. The fastest route to completing her goal would be to throw Storn at Mora and let the Prince take what it wanted. The Skaal would probably end up missing a core part of their village, but they and the rest of Solstheim would be free of Miraak’s influence that much sooner. Every moment she spent fretting over the morality was a moment people were writhing under Miraak’s stranglehold.

Another part of her was still desperately trying to cling to her humanity; to force her to exhaust every last option before she threw Storn to the wolves.

It would be easy to give in, to let Mora have what it wanted. Surrendering the Skaal’s secrets would be _faster_ , but it might very well get Storn killed. And if she could avoid his death, help the Skaal preserve their culture, and get what she needed at the same time; then wouldn’t it be worth it?

She couldn’t pin down either choice as a cruelty-free option.

Valtiel shook her head lightly. “It’s not so much the actual knowledge that’s important, it’s what Mora would do to get to it. And the fact is, I _don’t_ know what Mora will do. Most who deal with Hermaeus become nothing more than gibbering wrecks, completely bereft of all sanity. Storn might very well lose his mind, or _worse_. If there’s some other way to learn the Shout, I want to find it.”

Her shoulders rose and fell with her sharp breath, and she turned her head to peer at Odahviing behind her. He met her pensive eyes with his own. “I don’t want to be the cause of an avoidable death, but I can’t leave Miraak to--” She cut herself off abruptly.

A terrible idea came to her. She recalled Mora’s warbling voice, when she stood before it in Apocrypha. ‘All Miraak learned, he learned from me.’ Miraak definitely knew the last Word--

Valtiel _smothered_ the thought as quickly as it came. He’d _never_ teach it to her. Mora might have said Miraak was of no use to him, and it seemed the feeling was mutual. But no matter how much Miraak hated Mora, he had no reason to give his _adversary_ one the last thing they needed to reach him. There was nothing of value she could trade him in turn, nothing she could bargain with. Even if Miraak somehow wanted to strike a deal with her, she could not, in good conscience, agree to help him in the slightest if it meant being an accessory to others’ suffering.

“Dovahkiin?” Apparently she’d been silent a beat too long. Odahviing looked at her worriedly.

She shook her head, dismissing her ridiculous ideas. “It’s nothing. A stupid idea. I just wish there was an... easier answer.”

Odahviing hummed his solemn agreement. 

-❧-

Later that night, sleep eluded her. After she had gotten bored of staring at the cornerclub’s ceiling, she’d close her eyes, willing herself to drift off - only to find that she still had a restless energy keeping her wide awake and twitchy.

The sounds of the inn filtered through her door. The low tones of barely audible conversation were occasionally peppered by a bellowing drunk. Clinking glasses, bottles, mugs, and scraping chairs combined with a woman’s muffled laughter in a subdued racket. The acrid scent of burnt pine floated in the room.

Valtiel thumbed the bed’s furs, running her fingertips over its sericeous folds. As far as taverns went, the Retching Netch was probably one of the better places she’d stayed. Her private room was well furnished, making it feel lived-in and welcoming. Not at all like the one she was used to in Winterhold, with its cramped quarters being little more than a paid-for broom closet that kept the weather off.

Valtiel turned in her bed, tangling herself in the bed’s furs. She stared at the weathered wooden chair across the room, at the crumpled form of her satchel. Its dark leather reflecting the dim candlelight. She had tucked a few Black Books somewhere into its depths a few days prior.

Her mind had been racing full tilt for hours, with no signs of stopping. The longer she meditated on her situation, the more unease curled into her heart. There were still some pieces of the puzzle that refused to fit together.

If Valtiel assumed Miraak had told her the truth at their first meeting, then she still had no explanation for why those cultists had been sent to kill her. The orders they had carried never mentioned Miraak specifically ordering her death. His reaction when they first stumbled across each other simply didn’t mesh with what she knew so far. He had seemed genuinely confused. And besides, if he truly wanted her dead from the start, there would have been no reason to let her leave alive.

The added knowledge that Hermaeus wanted Miraak disposed of had heaped another layer of intrigue on to things. Miraak wanted to escape, that much was obvious from what Mora had told her. And after seeing Apocrypha for herself, it was understandable why he simply wanted _out_. While she couldn’t abide by his methods, she could still sympathize. Eras of forced confinement sounded like a very empty life.

And Mora... it was obvious Hermaeus wanted Miraak replaced. She still remembered the way its limb slid up her back in a not-so-subtle hint.

Valtiel shifted again, trying to get comfortable. Drew her legs up and hooked her ankles together.

If Storn complied with Mora, gave up his secrets... She’d be granted the last Word of Power for Bend Will. There would be no reason left to wait or hold back. She’d need only open the Black Book, commandeer one of Miraak’s dragons, and force it to bring her to Miraak. Then she would either kill him, or die trying. 

After that, Solstheim would be free.

After that, the people and the land could begin healing.

After that...

She’d be free to _rot_ in Apocrypha until she _lost her mind_ because a Daedric Prince was _**grooming**_ her to be a _replacement **pet!**_

Valtiel scrunched her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes until she saw stars. She pressed and pressed until she strangled the scream that would have torn out of her throat. Her breathing hitched and came out in choked bursts. She wanted desperately to believe there was some other way.

She had been manipulated from the beginning. They had both been. Of course, Miraak had been right to be confused when he saw her in Apocrypha. Why on Nirn would he bring in a third party? He’d known she killed Alduin; she wouldn’t die to some _lackeys_ , no matter how many he sent. There was no reason to bring her in to the equation, not when there was a high chance she’d live on to discover his plans, see them in the making first-hand, and _ruin them_ before his eyes! No reason at all!

No reason, other than Mora tricking her into killing his rebellious pet and _duping_ her into taking his place.

The back of Valtiel's hand covered her mouth as she took stuttering breaths through clenched teeth.

What else could she do? The dilemma was like this: Valtiel couldn’t leave Miraak to use Solstheim’s people as pawns, and Miraak would never let them go if he wanted to escape Mora. She was getting close to finishing off the last of the All-Maker Stones. Close to coercing Storn into making a decision he’d regret. Into something _she’d_ regret.

Valtiel pried her hands from her face, sitting up on her elbows to look back at her satchel. Where she knew another Black Book lied unopened.

Naturally her doubts would be at their worst just before she would teeter over the edge.

Was it possible it would be better this way? To knowingly walk into Mora’s trap. Solstheim would be free. Odahviing and Paarthurnax would never need to fear Miraak’s return ever again.

Ah, but that posed another problem. How long could she hold out? How much time would elapse before she eventually cracked, and tried to escape the same way Miraak was right now? Where was the guarantee she could break the cycle? She’d kill him only to repeat the same evils. If she wanted to have an exit ready before entering Apocrypha for the last time, she would need to think long and hard about what she had at her disposal. See if she had something on her end that Miraak somehow didn't. 

Falling back in bed with a huff, Valtiel took carefully measured breaths. Ran her hands along the furs again, feeling the individual hairs along the pads of her fingers. She focused on the quiet sounds of the tavern, bringing herself back to reality. She might have gotten ahead of herself a little. There was still some time before she had to act. There was still the matter of getting the last Word.

When she looked over at her satchel again, this time it looked too tempting to resist.

With a flourish, she threw the furs off of her legs, springing from the bed; pushed by a different kind of determination. She pulled on her coat and re-buckled her boots, snatching her crossbow from its place by the nightstand. Once she collected her equipment, she retrieved a Book from where it lied in her bag.

Her idea had been stupid, sure. Even if it didn’t work, it hardly mattered. She was a dead woman walking either way. If Miraak sliced her to ribbons in Apocrypha, Mora would just send her back to Nirn to try again later. Hermaeus wouldn’t keep her trapped permanently until it got what it wanted, after all.

Flipping open the pages, she dived into Apocrypha.

Anything was worth trying once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul for this chapter:
> 
> Aan deyra - A daedra  
> Faal vax sovenne - The traitor's secrets  
> Aan mal lahiik - A little shaman
> 
> On one hand, I really want to show Valtiel's thought process behind her actions, but on the other I feel like I've been really neglecting Miraak throughout this fic so far. So if you have any suggestions on what I can do to improve, I would really love to hear any and every thought you had. Comments are love, comments are life.


	9. Tinvaak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translation - Conversation

There are many types of literature in Apocrypha. Historical texts, educational tomes, novels, law books, poetry on loose leaf parchment. Occasionally, if you searched carefully, you might chance upon the final words of long dead plane-walkers who wandered too deep, who scrawled their final words into margins and book covers. Like their last bit of ink would prove that they had _existed_ , their little scraps of torn paper a timeless monument for desperate souls. A final cry to keep their memory alive amid Apocrypha’s endless labyrinth.

Miraak had never found any of them alive.

It’s difficult to parse which era the notes were written in. It’s difficult to recall what year it was. It’s difficult to separate the imaginations of an exhausted mind from flimsy reality. Apocrypha is dark and abysmal, and he had gotten lost in its depths long ago. Sometimes the rustling paper sounded too similar to hushed whispers, and it was all he could do to block out the noise.

The world he inhabited was vacant as a rule - silence was law in Apocrypha. His only company was the kind he had dragged in with him. So, how was it possible he could look trouble directly in her eyes?

He had turned away from his books, his studies - only to find that the Laat Dovahkiin had followed him into the dark corner he claimed. She was significantly closer than he’d have liked. Somehow she had stalked behind him on silent feet. Behind her, down the stairs, lurkers shambled listlessly. None of them indicating they had noticed her at all.

From her place on the staircase, the Last stood before him; meeting his surprised stare with bright eyes. Apocrypha was always dim, the darkness sometimes cutting deeply enough to be lethal, but it was not so dark here that he would have to strain to see her. Even under the lamplight, there was something ethereal to her silhouette, an incorporeal haze about her that made it hard to tell if he was simply dreaming. Distantly, he realized he could see through her in places.

“You are not truly here,” Miraak whispered, slowly. If Mora’s library were any louder, no one would have known he had said anything at all.

But silence was law here, and she heard him easily.

“No,” she murmured, unblinking, “I’m not.” Stepping delicately, she climbed the final steps to him one at a time - as if she were afraid to startle him. This was different from the last time they had spoken. The Last had been brazen, laughing in the face of danger - but now she was subdued, deathly still and quiet like the grave. It was unexpected.

Her steps were smooth as she breezed past him, walking by silently to lean against an altar he had been poring over minutes before. She brought her arms up and wrapped them around herself, clothed fingers curling into the bunched fabric at her biceps. His skin prickled at her proximity. In a world that made sense, the sole reason she’d be so close would be to run him through. Her presence merely a prelude to incited violence. But she stood tranquil before him, calm like undisturbed water.

“Why are you here?” he asked, breaking their gentle hush.

Her sudden appearance had thrown him. Week by week, he felt the Stones shut him out one after the other. The Last had come from on high to burn his kingdom down; with devastating success. He would have expected her to dedicate every lucid moment to resisting him. But here she was, against all logic. So, what was the reason for her visit? _Why?_

“Mora wants to be rid of you _very_ badly.” She stated, as if that would explain anything.

“Of course he does,” he replied airily. That much was obvious. “And no doubt you intend to take my place as Mora’s new champion.”

Miraak was not mistaken when he spied them conspiring with one another. Hermaeus had curled about her to whisper entrancing secrets into her ears. She was falling into Mora’s trap the same way he had, beckoned by promises of power the Prince would never grant.

He ought to be furious; enraged by her foolishness. Instead he only felt something hollow and aching in his chest. A niggling, sorrowful feeling - regret that Apocrypha’s solitude would be endured for the first time all over again. He imagined Hermaeus Mora could hardly wait to have her in his clutches. The Prince of Fate had no patience to speak of.

The Dragonborn shook her head minutely, raven hair ruffling with the movement. It was sluggish, the gesture slow as if she was moving underwater.

“No,” she told him softly, “You _know_ I don’t serve Mora. Don’t you see, Miraak? Hermaeus _used_ you to _lure me here_.”

He blinked.

_Ah._

And with that, Miraak understood.

His body sighed into place beside her at the altar, palm sliding flat across the slab to hold his weight; stopping his hand just behind her back. She didn’t seem to mind him there, not even looking up; as if his presence were the most natural thing in the world.

Their first encounter made so much sense now. Mora had manipulated them both. His head fell towards his chest with his silent sigh. Miraak shut his eyes. Not easily like a door. Like crushed paper. “I warned you,” he muttered, eventually.

He tilted his head and opened his eyes to watch her. “I told you to leave while you still could. You should never have come to Solstheim.”

Her hands fell away to curve her fingers around the altar’s edge. She stared at the ground somewhere near her crossed ankles.

“I never had a choice.” She muttered. “I could either investigate Solstheim, or wait to be killed by your cultists.”

Again, with his cultists. He never even knew he had followers when she set foot here. Then again, that was likely one more reason why things had worked so well in Mora’s favour. They’d been caught unawares.

“So, why tell me this now? Why, when we both know we’ve nearly reached the point of no return?”

She didn’t answer him. Not for at least a couple of minutes.

He looked lazily over the platforms, watching a lurker march aimlessly. Listening to the soft sounds of fluttering paper and the creature's thick breathing. Apocrypha's winds blew over the black sea, high above them.

Just when he braced himself to leave and find a different corner to study in, she finally answered him.

“I wanted to know if you also knew. Wanted to... bring everything to light. So we both knew exactly where we stood.” She spoke lowly, scrutinizing the floor like it was asking the questions.

That wasn’t a real answer, and Miraak knew it. Either she was unaccustomed to lying, or simply terrible at it. The more likely scenario was that this visit was a spontaneous decision. He eyed her profile. The Dragonborn’s weary expression gave her away. She had stolen into the night to seek him out on a whim, acting on an impulsive idea fueled by insomnia.

Though, in all fairness, he likely played a large role in why she hadn’t been sleeping.

“Indulge me, then. You wished to level the playing field? What will you do, now that you know we’ve been set up for failure? Have you realized Mora’s created a prisoner’s dilemma, tailored just for us? Are you having a change of heart?” Questions rose from his mouth unbidden like a stream. “Could you bring yourself to ally with me? Would you put your righteousness aside to help me escape, and save yourself too?”

“Help you escape?” He had barely finished speaking before she fired back. The Last answered his questions with more questions. Moonlit eyes flicked back to him, piercing through the slits of his mask. She leant into his space, a hand coming up to clutch at the bag strap across her chest.

“Assuming I agreed, and everything went fine, then could I expect you to keep your word during a truce? Could I trust you to never harm my closest afterwards? Could I put my faith in you?”

Miraak was suddenly aware of just how close she was. She looked so utterly engrossed, as if their fates were balanced on this moment, now, between them. He was careful, so careful to keep his distance. Afraid even a feather light touch might break this illusion the second he made contact. It pulled at him even more than her presence had.

“Would you not already have my deepest loyalty? Dii shir, I would already need to trust you would not simply _leave me behind_ at the worst possible moment. Who’s to say that is not absolute trust? We cannot kill each other without killing ourselves. Are we not already one and the same this way?” He wished she wasn’t wearing a mask. He wanted to see her face, needing to spy every minuscule reaction.

Impulse had brought her here tonight, and impulse was guiding him now. But there was a silver lining. She hadn’t immediately denied him. She was asking her own questions in turn. Voicing her doubts. Gauging his reaction for a response. Trying to discern if he was worth saving.

Had she thought of this too? She was a victim of circumstance, just like him.

She held his gaze surreptitiously through her lashes. Her intense expression changing into something calculating. The Dragonborn’s face relaxed and went blank as she thought. She was weighing the option, he realized.

Miraak froze in place. Watched intently as her mind raced.

Her earlier questions had been a roundabout way to interview him, he realized belatedly. She had asked because she wanted to know if they could work together. Miraak hoped he hadn’t made a mistake when he said she could trust him.

The Last looked - amused, maybe? He couldn’t tell because of her mask, but her eyes smiled for her.

“An alliance,” she hummed, satisfied.

“An alliance,” he breathed. Finally, a reaction of interest.

He slid his hands back up along the altar; leaving it and standing upright, prim and proper.

“Dragonborn,” he started, voice heavy. “If we are to do this, then I will have your name. I would not make plans without knowing who I am bargaining with.” That, and he was beginning to tire of having to refer to her with indirect terms. If he could get something better out of her than ‘Dragonborn,’ ‘the Last,’ or ‘trouble,’ he’d take it.

Serpentine eyes ignited, as if spotting a golden opportunity.

“And what would you give me for it?”

Miraak blinked.

_...What?_

“Trade you?” The flat disbelief in his voice seemed to amuse her. He could imagine the crooked smirk she wore. “There’s more you want? You ask for much, mal gein.”

“And _you_ asked for a _truce_ ,” she deadpanned, “You. 'Faal vax.' Asking _me_ for _my_ trust. If you give me collateral, I just might be persuaded to help you.”

One of her hands tapped its fingers along the altar, its drumming sound like so many heartbeats. The grin in her voice was _wholly_ unwarranted.

He huffed out an almost-laugh.

“And what is your request, Dragonborn?” he asked in an overly polite tone.

How had they gone from stilted conversation to _bartering_? Their conversation had changed so quickly. Perhaps he should have expected she would pull something like this. They’d swung between intimidation and teasing before, but this was an abrupt departure from even that.

“I want something valuable. Something to prove you’re serious.” She paused, giving him time to process her words. “Give me the last word of the Bend Will shout, and we can make an agreement.”

Miraak regarded her seriously, and was silent for a time.

“And if I refuse?” He was more curious than anything.

“Then I’ll bargain with Mora instead, and learn the Word from Hermaeus. I’d cleanse the remaining stones, and be forced to kill you. Give me the last Word, and I’ll give you my name and my aid. We’ll make a different plan, together.” She spoke with the confident air of someone with authority. “You’d have no need for the All-Maker Stones, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

The first half sounded like a deadly promise. The second sounded like a wild fantasy. He didn’t want to hear either, but Mora had already tampered with his plans by bringing the Last to Solstheim. He knew his Master. Hermaeus was toying with them both. It was probable there were other ploys Mora prepared to undermine him, as well.

Turning ideas over in his mind, he evaluated what he had left to lose. There wasn’t much. There were his dragons to think about - but if she controlled them with her Thu’um he could take them back just as easily. There were the All-Maker Stones, too. He had two left in his possession - the Water and Tree - and the power he currently gained from them was near negligible. As of yet, he hadn’t found anything strong enough to make up the difference.

Aside from her, of course.

But if Mora got his way, they may end up fighting to the death regardless, rendering his plan with the Stones moot. If he killed her and seized her soul, he wouldn’t need them anymore. If she killed him, they definitely wouldn’t matter.

Noticing his reticence, the Last broke the hush that had fallen over them.

“I’m sorry Miraak. This isn’t what I would have preferred either, but we were fresh out of choices long before we knew it,” she said, and the apology sounded sincere enough that Miraak could almost believe she meant it.

He didn’t respond. Electing instead to keep his silence.

Miraak ruminated on the value and use of the Shout. Mapped out the possible consequences. Wondered if Bend Will was expendable enough to give away.

Wordlessly, he beckoned her closer.

She hesitated for a heartbeat - but only a heartbeat - and soon she closed the meager distance between them.

She mirrored his posture, standing to meet him head on, gaze steadily locked on his. This closely, could make out grey flecks in her irises; dark lashes contrasting against pale skin. Slitted pupils gazed back at him sharply. The whole of her was sharp - from her behaviour to her appearance - all pointed and poised like a snake.

Miraak closed his eyes, focusing.

To know ‘Gol’ was to know your own willpower absolutely. Without fear, without doubt. In order to force others to act out your desires, you must smother your reservations ruthlessly. Through knowing your own strength, you will be stronger than Jul, Dov, and the land itself. That was the meaning of Bend Will. To shape the world through your power.

Bowing his head gracefully, tendrils of light and magic gently entwined them both as Miraak passed on his understanding; the knowledge gently suffusing within her.

He opened his eyes to find she was already looking at him. Or perhaps still.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

“So, then,” he breathed, “Do we have an accord, Dragonborn?”

“My name is Valtiel,” she said. “And yes, we have an accord.”

A few minutes later and she was gone, her name repeating endlessly in his mind.

-❧-

Back in Raven Rock, Valtiel closed the Black Book she’d been holding, replacing it in her bag. Took off her satchel and tossed it carelessly onto the chair; just as she had done hours before.

Her shoulders sagged, finally letting go of their tension now that she was alone. Being near Miraak had felt nerve-wracking, to say the least.

She had gone to Apocrypha hoping to acquire the final Word, and she had. Along with something else entirely. She just hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.

Heavily, Valtiel sighed through her nose. She was too damned tired to worry about the consequences of her actions right now. She could sort this new mess out in the morning.

At least Storn wouldn’t need to worry about giving anything away to Mora. By striking a deal with Miraak, she had gone completely over the Prince’s head, negating the need to make good on its bargain.

She decidedly ignored how the thought of angering a Prince made her stomach fix to curdle. _Later_ , she reminded herself harshly. She could deal with everything _tomorrow._

Valtiel took her coat off and undressed, curling up in bed again.

Odahviing was going to be _furious_ when she told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul for this chapter:
> 
> Dii shir - My dear  
> Mal gein - Little one  
> Faal vax - The traitor  
> Jul - Mankind  
> Dov - Dragonkind


	10. Ov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translation - Trust
> 
> Dovahzul translations at the bottom.

Valtiel slipped out of bed an hour before noon. She had been loathe to leave her cot, but there was work to be done. Maybe keeping her mind occupied would stop her from thinking too hard on things.

As soon as she had finished her morning rituals, she set about spreading her journals, writing utensils, and parchment papers across the modest desk in her quarters - as well as a small slate board the innkeeper had let her borrow. It would be easier to create a plan once she laid out all her information in plain view.

Naturally, finding a good starting point would be far simpler if Miraak were here, but he hadn’t come to meet her in secret again. She’d make do without him in the meantime. For now, she’d start by taking a look at her contacts.

An undertaking this complex would definitely require some level of arcane expertise... something she didn’t have. Valtiel may be Breton, but she was no mage. Far from it. Which, unfortunately, left her at a disadvantage. Flipping through her small address book, she began compiling a list of people who could possibly help. Neloth and his apprentice Talvas were the obvious immediate go-to. They were already nearby, and both were well versed with the Conjuration school and dealing with Daedra. Or, at least Neloth was.

There was Phinis Gestor, too, at the College. He was the resident Conjuration master. Phinis might not be as knowledgeable as the Telvanni here, but even if he was unable help, his time at Winterhold would have undoubtedly given him a list of his own associates. Falion, for example. Valtiel neatly copied their names onto parchment in a thin spidery script.

She resolved to pay a visit to Tel Mithryn later. Knowing Neloth, it would be better to invite herself unannounced than to send a courier. Valtiel would never hear back from him otherwise.

Should she write to Phinis while she was at it? According to the locals, it took months for letters to arrive in Skyrim. She had no idea how long it could take to free Miraak, so it might be prudent to send a letter ahead of time...

Noticing the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, Valtiel’s eyes lifted from her desk. There was an intangible sensation prickling at the edges of her awareness. She felt she was being watched.

Twisting in her seat, Valtiel spied Miraak’s ghostly projection behind her. Her brain was briefly bewildered, and she barely stifled the urge to jump. How long had he been there?

“Ah, there you are,” she said, finding her tongue. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d show. You left me waiting.” She held up a finger, chiding him playfully. Hopefully he didn’t notice that he had actually startled her. They were supposedly on friendlier terms now, but that didn’t ease her instinctual mistrust.

Some baser part of her did _not_ like that he had been behind her unnoticed. It had been different in Apocrypha. They weren’t on equal ground then, not exactly; but there was no need to fear injury or death through the Books. If she ‘died’ while reading, her consciousness would be returned to her body on Nirn. Perhaps Miraak’s avatar functioned in the same way, but that wasn’t something she could confirm.

His steps were light as he walked by, floorboards creaking under his weight. He draped an arm across the back of her chair and leant his weight on one hand against the desk. Wordlessly, Miraak examined her work thus far.

It seemed he had no issues getting up close and personal. Then again, considering yesterdays events, it shouldn’t have been surprising. Miraak seemed completely at ease next to her _then_.

“You’ve already begun making plans?” Miraak asked curiously, eyeing the cluttered desk and chalky slate. Valtiel had shown initiative plenty of times beforehand. He should have expected she would have something already underway.

He glanced behind him, stealing a glimpse at his new partner. She had a straight, narrow nose above well defined lips that scarcely had a curve to them. Bare and fresh-faced, she looked younger than he expected. It was odd to see her without her mask; like she was in some absurd form of undress, and he ought to avert his eyes. He quickly returned to the papers before him, not wanting to stare.

“In a way,” she shrugged, “I’m afraid I can’t do anything substantial just yet. But before we go forward, I need to ask you a few questions.” She swayed into his line of sight, grabbing his attention and meeting his eyes.

“Of course,” Miraak answered affably. “What would you like to know?”

“To start, I need to know what ground you’ve covered. Can you tell me any other past methods you’ve tried? I’ll have a better idea of where to start once I know what isn’t viable.”

“Mm,” Miraak hummed, nodding lightly. “Don’t trouble yourself with portal conjuration. I’ve tried to fashion makeshift gates from Apocrypha to Nirn multiple times with no success.”

That made sense. Even before the Oblivion Crisis, the Daedra had been barred from walking Nirn freely. Alessia’s pact should have prevented any singular Daedroth from manifesting at will - Princes included.

According to Paarthurnax and Odahviing, Miraak walked the earth even before Alessia; meaning the barriers had been erected _after_ he was already trapped. He had, essentially, been locked out. And once the Crisis was over, Mundus and Oblivion had been separated permanently.

The only way to whisper through the wall between worlds was to summon Daedra on Nirn. Not vice versa.

On that note, Valtiel mentally crossed summoning magic off the list as well. Even if she somehow found the means to conjure Miraak on Nirn, it wouldn’t last forever. He would still be in Apocrypha bodily, as was the case with Durnehviir. Temporary summons weren’t an option.

She quickly jotted everything down into her journal, planning to bring her notes up to Neloth later.

“Anything else?”

Valtiel was confident he had made other plans before trying to use the All-Maker Stones. When she looked back on his actions, it seemed more desperate to her than anything. Why else would someone enact such a drastic and esoteric plan, unless they had exhausted every other idea they could think of?

“I’m afraid I can only give you one more piece of advice. Find another avenue of research outside of tomes. There is nothing on your side that I have not already read a hundred times over.”

She snorted. “ _Bookworm_. Figures.”

Miraak said nothing. That horrible mask of his gave nothing away, but Valtiel still felt his withering stare. She couldn’t stifle the tiny smirk that pulled at her lips.

Closing her book, Valtiel rose from her chair. Its legs scraped against the wooden floor as she pushed it behind her.

“Alright, I think that’s everything I need,” she hummed, seemingly satisfied.

“Now that I’ve answered your questions, may I ask what you’ll do after this?” Still so _polite_. Was this some angle he was getting at, to lull her into a false sense of security? Or was Miraak just... _like_ this? She couldn’t tell.

“I’m going to speak with Neloth. He’s not exactly a follower of Mora’s, but he’s dealt with Princes before and has experience travelling to and from Oblivion. I’m going to check in and see what he knows first, before leaving Solstheim to search elsewhere."

“Very well. I’ll find you once you've returned, and you may tell me if anything worthwhile came from your trip. Good luck in your search.”

-❧-

Passing under the iron gates of the Bulwark, Valtiel let her mind wander.

They’d made a promise to help each other, but she couldn’t help but think that things weren’t that simple. How could she trust him to keep his word? He could be telling bold-faced lies for the sake of keeping her placated and cooperative. Playing civil wasn’t sitting quite right. She could probably blame that on how they’d swung from being ‘enemies’ to ‘allies’ in one evening. Valtiel’s nerves were alive with an apprehensive energy - but she needed to smother her paranoia for now. If hostilities flared, it would likely be _after_ he had left Apocrypha.

Coarse pebbles scraped underneath her boots as she trudged down the road, the distant chirrups of Ash hoppers floating through the air. The wind carried cloying ash, and it threatened to cling to her hair.

She’d need to think of some kind of contingency plan, should Miraak be as treacherous as the others said he was. A traitor, a savage, a terror... The only thing she'd been told to expect from him was a knife in the back. That she could only assume Miraak would do terrible things once she expended her usefulness, and he'd gained his freedom.

Keeping an eye on him was the least she could do, when they got him out. Showing clemency meant she had to be absolutely certain she would be the _only one_ who felt the consequences.

Valtiel couldn’t live with her guilt if it went any other way.

She sighed into the dusty air. There was still much to do.

It would be a long walk to Tel Mithryn.

-❧-

Valtiel found toiling Neloth in his laboratory. Talvas was running to and fro, fetching ingredients and materials as his Master ordered. Shaking the ash out and smoothing her coat, Valtiel called from the entrance’s wooden platform.

“Hello? Master Neloth? I’m sorry to intrude without notice, but I have something of great importance to ask you.”

He might be odd, but the old wizard wasn’t one to hold back information. A quality that Valtiel found refreshing, after so many others saw fit to deny her. Neloth was of the mind that even dangerous knowledge was useful, and should therefore be shared. If he knew something relevant, Valtiel was certain he wouldn’t withhold anything. Definitely not for the sake of ‘protecting herself from her own curiosity’.

Neloth didn’t look up to greet her, his attention better spent on his delicate specimen. From her spot on the platform, Valtiel could only guess what he was vivisecting. The scent of burning roots wafted through Tel Mithryn, and the gentle sound of a bubbling alchemy boiler could be heard somewhere out of sight.

“Oh, it’s you again,” came Neloth’s distracted reply. “I thought you’d still be rather busy scurrying about and cleansing the All-Maker Stones.”

“Normally, I would be. However, something has come up that I need your expertise on.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure you do. You wouldn’t have _interrupted_ my studies otherwise. Now, what is so ‘greatly important?” The _tak-tak-tak_ of Neloth’s forceps stopped and started in uneven intervals.

“It’s a long story, but the bullet points are that I’m trying to break someone out of a Prince’s Plane, and I wanted your advice.”

“A Plane of Oblivion?” That piqued his interest. Neloth finally looked away from his table, meeting her eyes. “That’s a difficult question to answer, indeed. I’m assuming this is something that cannot wait until later?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not.”

Heaving a great sigh, Neloth stripped off his gloves and subsequently burnt them in arcane fire.

“Come along then, and get out of the doorway. The entrance is no place for a serious talk.” Neloth beckoned her inside with a withered hand, ushering her in as he yelled for his apprentice. “Talvas! Go find Drovas and have him make us some tea. Our guest will likely be here a while.”

“Yes, Master Neloth! Right away!”

Talvas zipped past her and down the tower’s long-stemmed tunnel, rushing out the door.

Trailing behind Neloth, Valtiel walked along Tel Mithryn’s spongy floor. He led her to a small area adjacent to his main chamber. A few mismatched sets of tables and chairs were pushed against walls, creating a haphazard sitting room. Neloth picked a corner, and settled primly into a plush and lavish chair. He motioned for her to take the plain wooden stool across him.

Valtiel gave her ‘chair’ an unimpressed glance, before taking her seat silently. The wood creaked under her as she settled in.

“Now, then. Why this sudden interest in Oblivion Planes?”

“It has to do with Miraak. Not long ago, he asked to make an agreement with me. A truce of sorts. He’s asked me to help set him free.”

“And you _agreed_? Because he asked nicely?” Neloth’s incredulity would have been enough to make her grin, had the situation been different.

“No, not just because he _asked nicely_. There was more behind Miraak’s actions than I realized. The circumstances weren’t what they appeared to be. There’s also the fact that agreeing to a truce would have been better for Solstheim as a whole.”

“Oh, of course, how _noble_.” Neloth drawled. “Well, regardless of your motives, travelling between Mundus and Oblivion has become increasingly difficult these past two centuries - as I’m sure you know. It’s still possible, but only under specific conditions. Have either of you tried constructing a portal, or gate? That would be the most direct method.”

“I haven’t tried myself, but Miraak has. From what he’s told me, it’s not possible. He's said none of the gates he’s constructed have succeeded. Not one.”

“And where were these portals created? Gates can be opened depending upon the location and mage's skill.”

Drovas came up then, returning with their tea. He set a pot and two cups wordlessly on the table. Handing her a teacup, Valtiel gave a thankful nod and received a tiny smile in return before he left the room.

Neloth continued as if he hadn’t noticed Drovas at all. “Proximity to shrines or other places of intense Daedric influence or magicka can help facilitate the transition between worlds. The Battlespire was one such hub, for instance - among other places.”

“I’d wager Daedric influence isn’t the problem. The portals were constructed in Apocrypha, so he's not lacking for power or magicka.”

“They were made in Apocrypha?” Neloth asked, slightly aghast. “Hermaeus Mora’s touch induces madness. Thousands of years is a long time to feel the mental strain of being in a Prince's realm. Are you certain Miraak is still cognizant? Perhaps that’s where the issue lies. He could simply be too addled to build anything properly.”

“No, he seems perfectly fine. We’ve spoken in the past on more than one occasion. I’ve never once gotten the impression he wasn’t lucid.” She set her cup down, feeling slightly impatient. So far, none of this was news to her. “Anyways, back on topic. If Oblivion Gates aren’t an option, is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Hm,” Neloth hummed, running a finger over the rim of his teacup, “I’m afraid there isn’t much else, unfortunately for you. There used to be specifically constructed buildings dedicated to shifting between realms. Regrettably, they’ve either been destroyed or rendered defunct after the Crisis.”

“Was the Battlespire you mentioned earlier one of them?”

“Yes, it was. It had been used to reach numerous realms of Oblivion, back in the Second Era. I know it was able to access the Shade Perilous, Soul Cairn, and the Havoc Wellhead, among other places. All through the use of portals and voidgates. The Battlespire had been renowned in its day, but as I’ve said, it’s no longer functional.”

“Ugh,” Valtiel groaned, leaning her head against her hand. Her fingers tangled in her hair. “I was hoping I wouldn’t run into a dead end quite so soon.”

She glared at the wooden table, brow furrowing. She hadn’t learned anything especially helpful this visit. Now she’d need to plan a trip back down to the College, start searching there.

“Come now, don’t pout.” Neloth spoke then, surprisingly gently. He rested his slender hand on the table in a soothing gesture. Valtiel lifted her gaze, letting her own hand drop, meeting Neloth’s unexpectedly soft eyes.

“You’re a grown woman. Don’t behave so _childishly_.” Neloth went back to sipping his tea daintily.

Ah, there it was. That familiar condescension. Valtiel huffed out gentle laughter, genuinely amused.

“Well then, Neloth... What should I do?” A crooked grin crossed her face.

“You,” he pointed a bony finger, “May to return to... _whatever_ it was you were doing prior. In the meantime, I’ll have Talvas transcribe a few letters for me and see if I can’t find anything out on your behalf. You’ve been a great help to me recently; and you’re not an honorary member of House Telvanni for nothing. I’ll ask my colleagues if they have any relevant information, and forward anything useful to you at a later date.”

Valtiel chuckled. “Alright. Sounds good. Thank you, Master Neloth.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re all aflutter with gratitude. Now, out with you! I was in the middle of my research!”

-❧-

Some few hours later, Valtiel had arrived at the Skaal’s village in the North.

She squinted her eyes against the setting sun, painting the bright white snow in warm shades of orange and pink. The sky was clearer in this half of Solstheim, and the blustering wind was pushing up from the ocean. Clamour from the village reached her ears as she ambled through.

A goat’s clanging bell and occasional bleats mingled with snapping flames from a small fire. Snippets of genial conversation could be heard alongside a half-dozen boots thickly crunching snow underfoot. A smith’s hammer beat against metal, the steady blows clanking in time with the forge bellows gusty breath. Nearby, the scrape of a knife sheared against a tanning rack.

There were still a few other things she had to take care of before the day was done. The Water and Tree Stones still needed to be cleansed, for one. Once she was done here, she’d start making her way to them by following along the coastline as best as she could. Storn and Frea would also need an update. By learning the last Word through Miraak, they wouldn’t need to give anything away to Mora. She counted that as a silent victory. Even if things went completely sour, at least Valtiel could relax knowing she got _one_ thing right.

She hoped neither of them would question things too deeply. Explaining how and where she had learned the last Word of Power would be a very awkward conversation.

The Skaal had been helpful and accommodating thus far, making Valtiel wary of giving them any more grief. Storn and Frea had generously given their support, without making her earn the privilege first. She supposed it was a cultural thing. The Skaal, as a whole, seemed to prioritize helping each other over all else.

It made her feel she had already asked for far too much. Especially considering she was a stranger among them; one who had nearly corralled Storn into doing something irreversible. She couldn’t imagine what a burden it would have been, to be forced into giving up important pieces of your culture - even if it was meant to be a necessary sacrifice.

Once she had spoken to Storn, she wouldn’t be returning. It was better that way.

Valtiel took the salty air in slowly as she neared the end of the village. Storn and Frea resided in the small building next to the Greathall, the last house in the line before the town tapered off into jagged cliffs. Taking a final sweeping glance around the village, Valtiel raised her hand and rapped her knuckles against the wooden door.

A minute later, it swung open, revealing Frea and her father relaxing after their evening meal. Frea reluctantly ushered her inside, stepping lightly. Storn welcomed her to sit by the fire and shake the cold off. All the while, Frea kept close by, hovering about her father faithfully.

“Dragonborn, you’ve returned to us. Have you come to ask if I’ve made my decision?”

Storn spoke drily, and without emotion. But there was a sense of defeat in the old man’s demeanor that felt like a kick in the teeth. He had slumped into his chair ever-so-slightly since she entered. It would have gone unnoticed if Valtiel hadn’t been watching him like a hawk. It made her feel slimy, like an overpowered loan shark collecting a debt. It made Valtiel’s heart _hurt_.

Hopefully the news she brought would be a welcome relief.

“Not at all. Fortunately for us, we no longer need to give Mora what he wants.” The pair’s eyes lit up in attention, Storn’s bushy eyebrows raised. “I’ve spoken with a few colleagues, and asked them about the final Word of Bend Will. We found a different way to learn the Shout, without Mora.”

“Thank the All-Maker,” Frea sighed, “We both have felt the Tree Stone release its corruption, and sensed the Oneness of the land restored. Now that the last of the Stones has been purified, we had been certain you would return to fulfill Herma-Mora’s demands.”

This time, Valtiel had been given pause. The Stones had been cleansed? How? She was certain there were two she hadn’t touched yet. Was that Miraak’s doing, or Mora’s? She hoped for the former, and dreaded the latter. The thought that Mora had gotten impatient and finally elected to _kill_ Miraak sent a confusing sense of dread and loss down her spine.

Frea continued on, thankfully not noticing Valtiel’s quiet alarm.

“It brings my father and I great relief you discovered a better way. Those Black Books are evil, against everything I have been taught.”

Perhaps a little distantly, Valtiel nodded. Not for the first time, she was grateful for her mask. It hid the downward twist of her lips.

“I’m glad, too. There’s just one more thing I need to tell you, first.” Valtiel tucked her hands behind her neatly as she addressed the pair, fighting the urge to scrunch up her shoulders and make herself small. “I think it’s time I said my goodbyes. I cannot say for certain what will happen if, or when, Mora discovers we’ve sidestepped our deal. Regardless, I doubt it will be anything pleasant. It may try to find some other, novel way to extract the secrets it desires. And to eliminate that possibility, I think it’s best that I leave Solstheim soon. Mora doesn’t need any additional agents working in its favor.”

Storn looked at her with concern.

“After Miraak has been slain, yes?”

“Of course,” she lied. “It will all be over soon.”

She hands fidgeted behind her back, running a thumb along her wrist to feel the leather; pressing her fingers into her palm. The pressure would have given her little crescents in her skin, had her hands been bare. “I thought you deserved to be informed before I left. It’s possible we may not meet again. I wanted to thank you both for your help. There are things I would still know nothing about if I hadn’t met you.”

Storn nodded sombrely, taking his daughter’s hand in his and squeezing tight. “Of course, Dragonborn. The Skaal will do what is necessary, as we always have. But, if I may give you some parting words of advice?”

“Please do,” she said.

“Herma-Mora nearly forced you to serve him to defeat Miraak; to make us all walk a path of his design. Even our legends foretell a day we finally relinquish our secrets to our old foe. The day Herma-Mora triumphs. But your actions have proven that other ways can still be found. Our secrets are safe, and the land is whole once more. It is well and good that this has happened, but...” His eyes bored into hers, and Valtiel stared into the space beside his head, unable to meet his worried gaze.

“I warn you: do not let Herma-Mora lure you down the same road as Miraak. The Dragonborn are creations of the All-Maker. Do not forget that. It is not your place to follow the Prince of Fate’s whims.”

She let the air she’d been holding out slow, nodding her head; hoping it looked gracious.

“Thank you, Storn,” she said. “Thank you both. For everything.”

Valtiel gave her farewells and departed into the cooling twilight, not looking back.

-❧-

She had forgotten how _quickly_ the sun set this far North. It should only be a little after eight, if her internal sense of time was correct. She wouldn’t be making to Raven Rock tonight - groups of bandits prowled around after dark. She’d have to find some cave or ruin to hole up for the evening.

Or, she thought, looking up at the dark sky, she could find a different way to kill time.

Heading northeast, Valtiel scaled the mountain’s slopes. She let her feet carry her until she came to a halt before a large pair of stone arches. Saering’s Watch was further ahead, the dilapidated ruins jutting out between peaks.

Walking atop packed snow, she circled the broken archway until she found a broken piece leading to the top. Gripping the cold stone, Valtiel hoisted herself up the shattered ramp. She climbed until she reached the flat walkway above.

Eyeing a comfortable spot, Valtiel brushed the frost off of the weathered cobblestone. It came away easily, the arches having been battered smooth by the elements centuries ago.

Brushing her gloves clean and methodically tucking her coat around herself, Valtiel sat at the edge. Leaning back on her hands and dangling her legs, she turned her gaze to the night sky.

Dense, turbulent clouds blanketed the heavens. The barest glimpses of starlight peeked through wispy openings, obscured moonlight dimly illuminating up above. It wasn’t the view she wanted, so she took in a breath, aiming to rectify just that.

Turning her face away from the slicing wind, Valtiel felt the familiar power of her Voice build in her throat like a brewing storm.

“Lok Vah Koor!”

Her Shout carried clear, the heavens shifting and clouds dissolving at her command. The shadows receded, making way for soft starlight. Valtiel leaned into the breeze, the raging winds now a gentle caress against her skin; listening to crystallized powder whisk across the snowbanks in a tinkling song. Celestial light fell gently across the earth. 

Up above, the aurorae danced; brilliant blues and purples against black. The vivid display heightened by falling stars soaring through the night; the vibrant colours shimmered atop thin, flawless ice sheets - giving the field below a glimmering, ethereal quality.

It was quiet, here.

The wind whispered softly.

Valtiel breathed in clean mountain air.

Closing her eyes, she bathed in the silence, serene.

It had been a long and exhausting day. She’d done nothing important, either. Or at least, none of it seemed significant compared to what she knew lied ahead. Breaking Miraak out of Mora’s realm wouldn’t be straightforward.

Neloth had offered to join her in research, consulting his colleagues. Valtiel was glad for it. Extra sets of minds and eyes couldn’t hurt. She hadn’t made any progress on her own, yet. The information she gained today only compounded on what she already knew. The more she scrutinized this puzzle, the more Miraak’s bizarre plans seemed rational. The usual, direct approaches were impossible. A predicament of this calibre needed an abstract line of thought.

Still though, there had to be a way.

She was just blind to the answer.

Valtiel’s quiet contemplation was interrupted. Distantly, a familiar sound echoed between glacial crags - an inhuman roar she’d recognize anywhere. A quick, long shadow cut across the sky like an arrow loosed; blacking out the stars. She looked up to plated scales shining in the moonlight, reflecting a familiar shade of crimson.

The arch shuddered as Odahviing landed, close to where she sat. Valtiel swayed with the impact.

He didn’t bother to make himself comfortable before he spoke, his talons catching on the old stone and scratching up the sides as he tried to settle. “Het hi los, Dovahkiin. I feared I would need to hunt you down to speak with you. Zu’u nis siiv hi vothni Thu’umiil.”

“Mm. A lot has happened in a few days. I must have forgotten to check in,” Valtiel murmured distractedly, staring over the ice fields.

She should probably tell him what she’d done. But was this really the best time? By waiting a little, she could choose a better moment to break the news. Meditate on what she needed to say beforehand.

Odahviing seemed tranquil enough now, though. The night was calm. They were the only two out here. The sooner she confessed, the more time Odahviing had to accept it. Surprising him was the worst thing she could do. Still, doubt curled in her heart.

Valtiel stole a glance at her companion. He had since stretched himself along the arch like a cat in the sun, carefully lain along the top - quite a feat, when you considered his large size.

How angry would he be, if she said anything? Would he leave, refusing to associate with her? He had been furious when she asked about Miraak, thrashing with rage. Odahviing had told her many would gleefully burn even the wrecked remnants of Miraak’s temple to ashes.

Would he do the same to her?

“Los hi pruzah, mal gein? You have been acting strangely.” Odahviing’s voice was not harsh, but it made her jump anyways.

"Well... I, ah -” she stumbled, words tangling in her mouth, catching around her tongue. She couldn’t reach his eyes. “I’d be lying to you if I said I wasn’t troubled. There’s... there’s something that I need to tell you, but I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say.”

Valtiel busied her hands by clasping them on her lap, refusing to fidget.

“Druv dreh hi uful? Dovahkiin, for many moons I have been your Grah-Zeymahzin - and you, mine. I have not hesitated to give you dii mulaag ahrk Thu’um. You have my ear as well, always. Zu’u valokein tinvaakun.”

Odahviing spoke to her soothingly to calm her nerves; coaxing her into revealing her plight. She could still turn back, if she wanted. It wouldn’t be hard. She could say she wanted to be left alone, and he’d go. The truth would need to be told eventually, though. She just had to open her mouth and let it come out. It was likely she would only have one shot at this. As much as she enjoyed Odahviing’s company, she could not forget he was still a _dovah_. If she ruined this now, Odahviing would not give her a second chance to explain.

Dragons typically preferred using _violence_ to settle disagreements.

“Odahviing, do you trust me? At all?” she asked suddenly, voice soft and unsure. “I know it’s an odd question, but there’s a reason I need to ask.”

They had worked, fought, and relaxed by each other’s sides for quite some time, and were very familiar with one another by now. She enjoyed his company, his camaraderie. But she had no idea if Odahviing saw things as she did. When they had first met, Valtiel had no doubts he only agreed to work with her because it would save his own hide. She wasn’t sure if anything had truly changed since then. As fond as she was, there was always the pervasive fear Odahviing only tolerated her because it was beneficial for him.

Under Alduin, dissention warranted a swift death. Did Odahviing believe she would slaughter him, if he objected? Was that why he stayed? It was hard to tell, and trust was a difficult thing.

Before she said anything more, she needed to know. If Odahviing thought she’d betrayed him - joined Miraak for self-serving gain - she could have a problem on her hands. Valtiel watched him, cautiously gauging his reactions. She’d be dropping the subject the moment things looked too risky.

He quirked his large head; eyes squinting in confusion and skepticism. His scales glinted in the moonlight, inner eyelids blinking.

“Geh, certainly. I do not doubt your integrity. Though, I do not understand why you raise the question.”

“I ask because, even if you don’t consider us close - I’m very fond of both you and Paarthurnax. I _need_ you to understand that. I’d never put either of you in senseless danger. And that’s why I have to tell this to you now, before... Before you find out some other way.” Her dreadfully quiet voice trailed off, taken by the wind.

Odahviing shifted, twisting to get a better view of the Dovahkiin. She was tense, uncomfortable. It only confused him further. He did not know what troubled her, but it had been affecting her greatly as of late. The Dovahkiin did not shy from him. They often spent long hours together after she summoned him; sometimes dedicating the day’s remainder to each others company, or the evenings to rest under the stars. As of tonight, this was the longest conversation they’d shared for weeks. Odahviing had never seen her act this way before.

She had looked livelier when she’d thrown herself into Sovngarde.

“Dovahkiin?” he asked, curling around her to rest his head where she could see. Gently, so as not to accidentally hurt her.

She gave a quick, spiritless sigh.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, “I should just spit it out.” Despite her words, she fell silent again, for far longer this time. She loosened her clasped hands, rubbing at her fingers and palms; the dense fabric of her gloves rustling under her ministrations. She stared down at her lap before returning her gaze to him, an unbefitting, pained expression on her face. Finally, she answered.

“Not long ago, Miraak and I met in Apocrypha. He requested a truce.”

She paused, trying not to falter under Odahviing’s stare.

“I agreed.”

Her words took a second to register, but when they had, it set his nerves _alight_. Disgust settled over him, making his spine tighten and arch like aan kaaz \- the Dovahkiin standing to brace against his incoming anger. His tail lashed, constricting and pulling taut against him, a clawed foot nearly slipping off the arch they perched on, threatening to make him lose his balance. His wingtips pressed to each side of the walkway, caging her in.

Lost rek sizaan ek hahdrim!? Of all things, he would never have anticipated _this_.

Her confession was easy to grasp - it was harder to pin her motivations. From the beginning there was an unspoken expectation Miraak would die at the Dovahkiin’s hand, the consequences of his actions catching up to him at long last. How long had this plan of theirs been in the making? They had to have been in contact with each other for some time. Why had she never told him about this?

Perhaps she hadn’t agreed out of her own volition. Miraak’s Thu’um was strong. Strong enough to crush the wills of lesser Dov under his bootheels - as he’d happily demonstrated before. Had he done the same to ok Dovahkiin? Perhaps she wasn’t mentally sound. The thought wasn’t enough to soothe his rankled nerves, but it was enough to make him open his maw and question her. There had to be more to this.

She obviously hadn’t been pleased about any of it, considering her recent behaviour.

“Would you care to explain _why_ , Dovahkiin, when we have been preparing to _kill him_ for so long?” he hissed. Sharp and low, sibilant and venomous. How could she do this? It went against all they had worked towards! “After all that Miraak has done, you’ve _joined him?_ ”

“Odahviing, you need to listen. I did mean to kill him for his actions, that’s true. You know that as well as I do - you’ve been with me nearly every step of the way. But I need you to think back for a moment.”

Rashly, she reached up to rest her hand flat against Odahviing’s snout. Luckily, he only stilled, before lowering his head with a low throaty growl she felt reverberate in her chest. His wings relaxed somewhat - slipping off the sides of their perch. Valtiel kept talking. She needed to make him understand, quickly, before Odahviing’s patience came to an end.

“We already know Miraak wants _desperately_ to escape. Why bring my ire at such a precarious moment? An attempt on my life would have registered as a challenge - and it did. That’s exactly how we responded, by coming to investigate. But when I came across him for the first time, Miraak didn’t recognize me, as I’ve told you before. If Miraak wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have let me go.”

He snorted bitterly, air gushing from his nostrils. Warm air condensed and frosted in front of him. “If Miraak is not responsible, then who has marked you for death? His followers would not act without _orders_.” His servants would not attack without a command first. If she could not provide a rational explanation, he’d be taking her straight back to Keizaal \- no matter how much she fought him. This was ridiculous. If she was unwell in any way, she was unfit to carry out what needed to be done.

“The blame falls to the same entity that Miraak and I have both been trying to evade.” Much more confidently, she carried on, seemingly aware she had little time to justify herself. “I'm positive now that it was Hermaeus Mora, Miraak’s master, who masterminded everything.”

Absolutely absurd. “Explain that!”

The Dovahkiin’s shoulders hitched, taken aback by his raised voice. It spurred her into talking all the same.

“Before coming to Solstheim, I’d encountered the Prince along the way to defeat Alduin. It bade me to serve it, to do as I was told. At the time, I refused, in no uncertain terms. And now I think the Prince of Fate has come to collect, to force me to kill Miraak and take his place as Champion, as its servant.” Odahviing wanted to scoff.

“Faal deyra? Dovahkiin, surely you must _realize_ that what you claim is -”

“Think on it, Odahviing.” She interrupted him swiftly. “Mora has kept Miraak hidden from all of creation for _thousands_ of years. Miraak has been deemed restless; he’s considered disobedient by his master. Wouldn’t Mora be glad to dispose of a defiant servant? Especially now that there’s an opportunity to attain a _similar replacement?_ ”

He... grudgingly conceded there was _some_ basis to her argument.

Consorting with Daedra was perilous by default, though her past encounters were of little concern. The fact she stood before him was proof she had survived the Gardener of Men more than once. He was not blind to the Daedra’s machinations, however. Many of his brethren had sought the demons out, seeking unusual powers. Fewer had escaped them. Every interaction was a transaction, and everything was inevitably accounted for. Some of the Dov were never seen again, the deyra taking their lives as payment.

He sighed, heavy chest heaving.

"Zu'u koraav nu," he admitted, with some effort. "Rotiil piraak vahzen, Dovahkiin."

Odahviing regarded faal mal vahdin once again, his stare cooling. “Was that the reason you searched so adamantly for another way to learn Bend Will? Vudoz faal deyra? So you would not be forced into service?”

“One reason of many, yes. It’s better for both of us this way. That’s why I’m trying to free Miraak - so I don’t repeat his mistakes a second time and spend an eternity in Oblivion. Hence why I needed to tell you. To inform you - or maybe warn you, if you like.”

So, she had joined Miraak out of necessity - not to forsake them for darker powers. He could see that, now. 

Odahviing was silent and pensive as he reflected; wanting to choose his next words wisely.

“Dovahkiin, has it not occurred to you that Miraak is merely using you as well? To have you aid him, so he may return to wreak havoc once more?”

“It has,” she stated, grim. “I’ve often questioned if this was the best course of action. For a minute, I entertained the idea that allowing Mora to capture me would be better, for everyone else’s sake... I’ve been worried, wondering what Miraak will do with his freedom. If he’d hurt others as he did when the Cult existed. If he’d kill you. If he’d kill Paarthurnax.”

She leaned against him as she spoke, hiding her face against his - seeking comfort. Odahviing’s anger receded, something close to guilt taking its place. He pushed back, nuzzling.

He should not have doubted her. The Dovahkiin had shown suicidal bravery when she faced Alduin. Offering her life in exchange for others was something she had made peace with long ago. The fact she would have sacrificed herself once again, for his sake, for ok zeymah... he could not keep his stubborn rage. The fire left his veins.

“I’ll be keeping a very close watch on Miraak once we’re done. The moment he raises a hand against either of you, he’s signed his own death warrant.” With that declaration, she broke away, returning to perch on the stone’s edge. 

Odahviing followed, reassured. He carefully tucked himself around her - his own protective wing keeping ok Dovahkiin sheltered from the night’s chill.

“Such _concern_ , mal gein. Have you no faith in your friend, to believe I would fall to Miraak so easily?”

She snorted, gratefully pressing herself against his side.

“Of course not, Odah. I have _complete_ faith in you. The Dragonborn were only created to _kill and devour_ Akatosh’s children, after all. What could one lousy, geriatric Dovahkiin have on _you?_ ”

“Zu’u mos daar tinvaak pruzaan fod hi tiiraaz,” he deadpanned. Her tired, gentle laughter brought a creeping smile to his face. She may not have understood his words, but she seemed to catch the meaning nonetheless. Even if it was at his expense, it was reassuring to have her joke with him again.

“Oh, by the way, Odahviing... there’s something else I wanted to ask you. Miraak’s called me this at least twice by now, and I was hoping you could translate.”

“Mm?” he hummed, voice vibrating in his throat like a purr.

“What does ‘dii shir’ mean? It's Dovahzul, obviously, but I could only guess it was some kind of insult from the way he said it.”

Odahviing sputtered, then threw his head back into disbelieving raucous laughter, the harsh noise of it bouncing back against jagged mountaintops. The Dovahkiin wriggled beside him, vexed and indignant, demanding he explain. He shook hysterically until he calmed enough to string a sentence together.

“Oh, is that how it is?” His voice strained with mirth. “Definitely not an insult, then. Keeping Miraak under heel may be easier than you ever expected, Dovahkiin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul for this chapter:
> 
> Lok Vah Koor - Sky Spring Summer  
> Het hi los, Dovahkiin - Here you are, Dragonborn  
> Zu'u nis siiv hi bothni Thu'umiil - I could not find you without your shout  
> Los hi pruzah, mal gein - Are you well, little one?  
> Druv dreh hi uful - Why do you worry?  
> Dii mulaag ahrk Thu'um - My strength and Voice  
> Zu'u valokein tinvaakun - I welcome our conversations  
> Geh - Yes  
> Aan kaaz - A cat  
> Lost rek sizaan ek hadrim - Had she lost her mind?  
> Ok Dovahkiin - His dragonborn  
> Keizaal - Skyrim  
> Faal deyra - The Daedra  
> Zu'u koraav nu - I see now  
> Rotiil piraak vahzen - Your words hold truth  
> Faal mal vahdin - The small maiden  
> Vudoz faal deyra - (to) avoid the daedra  
> Ok zeymah - His brothers  
> Zu'u mos daar tinvaak pruzaan fod hi tiiraaz - I liked this conversation better when you sulked  
> Dii shir - My dear
> 
> I'll admit, the reason this chapter took so damn long is because I just plain didn't know how to write the NPCs. Some of the characters in Skyrim are just so flat, it's hard to imagine them saying anything other than their handful of scripted lines, which makes maintaining their character a chore. Also, fair warning - if some of the lore in this fic absolutely doesn't match canon, its because I've tossed canon out the window. I want to keep things believable, but some of that stuff is just Garbage™ honestly.
> 
> Grousing aside though, I'm hoping to make longer, more detailed chapters going ahead - which might create longer wait times.  
> ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇs ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs sᴛɪʟʟ ᴛʀᴀsʜ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ ᵖˡˢ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵐᵉʳᶜʸ


End file.
